


bbac side stories

by skittidyne



Series: bbacverse [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M, Multi, most are not super long, ratings and pairings and everything varies, side stories to bell book and candle, the e rating... is for smut... (sorry peeps)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 72
Words: 122,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4643226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things are a little different. </p>
<p>(( side stories to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3766450">bell, book, and candle</a>. ratings, characters, and pairings vary. several aus included, but most are written "to be as canon as possible". ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kuroken: the sin one

**Author's Note:**

> (( babby's first attempt at smut, please be gentle. i'm a plot writer, not a porn writer. ;; ))
> 
> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: e  
> summary: Kenma Alone Time is interrupted. Kenma shouldn't be surprised, since Kuro tends to have a habit of interrupting most things in his life.

Kenma’s gotten to the point where he needs fingers in him. (Or better yet, a detachable showerhead.) He slides down against the wall, shuddering at the contrast of the cold tile and his hot skin, and tries to open his legs further in the small shower stall. Next time, he’s getting a suite. With a jacuzzi with jets and actual  _rooms_  to lock Kuro away in—

Pain spikes suddenly up his spine and it takes him a beat to realize that it wasn’t from him. There’s a loud curse from outside, then the bathroom door slams open. Kuro dunks his hand under the water of the sink with a hiss.

Kenma sits up, more shocked than anything else, and cracks open the glass shower door. “Um, excuse you. What happened?”

Kuro winces at the water, but Kenma can’t see anything else from this angle. His legs are too tense and his hormones are struggling to figure out if this is enough of an emergency to get distracted by, but Kenma gingerly stands up to investigate anyway, still peeking around the edge of the door.

“Okay, so I’ll clean it up myself, and—look, I’m not lying—it wasn’t my fault,” Kuro begins, and that doesn’t reassure him. From his higher angle, Kenma can see the last bits of pink rinsing away with the water, but there’s no obvious wounds (or blackness) on Kuro’s hand. “So, you may need a new jar of dead man’s blood.”

Kenma narrows his eyes. “You broke it.”

“Your game startled me. Did you know it starts playing different music if you leave it paused too long? I tried to catch the jar I knocked over, but you can see how well that turned out,” Kuro grumbles and pulls his hand out of the water, wiggling his fingers at Kenma. The skin is a little red, but it’s nothing bad. As Kenma squints at the injury, Kuro sniffs the air, and breaks out into a wide, lecherous smirk. “Kenmaaaa. It smells like sex in here. You haven’t even washed yet.”

“I’m entitled to my own shower time. Why do you think I take forty-five minutes in the shower?” he fields, and slides the door shut again. The water is still hot, and that feels nice, even if his mood is otherwise ruined. Kenma rinses off his fingers with a small sigh.

“I think you should kiss my hand better.”

“Shove off, Kuro.”

“I’ll wash your hair for you if you kiss it better.”

Kenma isn’t certain where Kuro even got the notion that kisses make injuries better (it certainly wasn’t from him), but his offer is extremely tempting. And it may as well function as an apology for ruining his stress relief. Kenma angles the showerhead down and slides open the door, the only invitation he’ll get.

Kuro doesn’t waste it. He literally trips over his pants as he tries to shimmy out of them, and Kenma belatedly realizes that the last time he let Kuro shower with him was before their fight.  _Can it be called a fight?_  It probably shouldn’t be called a fight, but Kenma isn’t comfortable calling it anything else, and it easily explains Kuro’s eagerness.

“You smell good,” Kuro hums, momentarily resting his cheek on top of Kenma’s head before he slides around him to get to the hot water.

“When’s the last time you bathed?”

“Bokuto let me splash around in their little bird pool thing—”

“Right,” Kenma sighs, and taps Kuro’s shoulder to force him down onto his knees. He reaches over him for the soap, but Kuro startles him by wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him forward. He places a short but open-mouthed kiss against his stomach, and Kenma wobbles, off-balance and off-guard. “What was that for?” he asks, eyes wide.  _Please don’t say something stupid—_

“Hey, I like getting my hair washed, too. Consider it thanks,” he mumbles against him, and continues placing small kisses outward in a line until he reaches Kenma’s hipbone. Kenma really wishes he had thought out their positioning a bit better, but he can’t sit down himself without getting a face full of water.

And. It’s kind of nice—

Kenma dumps more gel than he probably should onto Kuro’s shoulder, and the chilliness of it makes the demon jump against him. Which, in turn, almost unbalances him again. Okay, they seriously need to rearrange, but before he can do anything more than drop a loofah onto Kuro’s head, Kuro is running his tongue along the edge of his hip, and Kenma really does jump and lose his footing.

“I’m sorry, are you ticklish?” Kuro asks with a laugh muffled against his skin. He at least had the grace to steady him, but Kenma is very much Not Amused.

“You knew that,” he accuses, and Kuro can’t argue without it being a lie. The ass. “Don’t tickle me. I’m trying to make sure you’re not dirty.”

“I want to be dirty,” he hums and slides his hands down Kenma’s thighs. Honestly, just the physical touch is pretty nice, and he wouldn’t mind indulging. But there’s already soap everywhere, and Kuro should not be rewarded for his behavior.

Kenma adjusts the showerhead  _again_  and sits down, awkwardly cross-legged, across from his demon. He throws the loofah at him. “Scrub yourself.”

“That’s so mean,” he whines, but he doesn’t specify whether he’s referring to the move or the order. Kuro throws the scrub back at him and instead uses his hands, purposefully doing a shit job at washing himself, and apparently that’s enough to satisfy the order. He bends over and kisses Kenma’s knee. “You should’ve found a place with a bigger bathroom.”

“Next time when I’m fleeing from angry witches and hunters I’ll prioritize better.”

“Kinda surprised you didn’t have an escape plan already,” Kuro admits and kisses his other knee.

Kenma doesn’t want to get into that. “What do you think you’re doing, and how long will it continue?”

Kuro looks up at him through the bangs plastered against his forehead, gold eyes sharp. “If you want me to stop, you know all you have to do is say no.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think I’m gonna kiss you, and I’m gonna keep kissing you until you orgasm, fall asleep, or order me off.”

Something twists in Kenma’s stomach. Not quite arousal and not quite panic, but some horrific mixture of the two. It’s not as if he hasn’t thought about this again, since their maybe-fight, but he’s not sure where they stand now. As Kuro kisses (rather chastely) up the inside of one thigh, still bent over ridiculously, the mix in Kenma’s stomach sways firmly back to arousal. But the panic is still present.

“Why?” Kenma has to ask.

“Can’t I want to do things for myself?”

“You don’t like getting your hair washed this much.”

“I wish I could say I’m hoping to get promoted to incubus,” Kuro says with an impressively straight face, eyes up on Kenma’s face again, but then he looks down at the leg his cheek is pressed again. No, not leg—Kenma feels his face heat up and tries to close his legs on reflex, but with Kuro practically between them, it’s impossible. “Can I taste you?”

“How can you say that,” Kenma mumbles, face instantly hot at such an earnest question. Kuro can’t lie and he hasn’t really learned a human sense of shame yet, but Kenma has enough embarrassment for the both of them.

“I want to do it.”

“ _Why_.”

Kuro finally shifts, now on his hands and knees, with his almost-injured fingers splayed across Kenma’s thigh. He cranes his neck to try to meet Kenma’s flushed face. “I’m glad I got summoned by you, and I really like you, Kenma. And honestly, you smell so good right now I just want to eat you up.” He frowns thoughtfully, and then adds, “Sexually. Not in any other way. …You know that, right?”

“N-Not until the contract is up,” Kenma says weakly. There’s not enough space in the shower stall for him to get away, but he knows it’s an excuse for his own benefit, because he doesn’t  _want_  to get away. Kuro’s hardly done anything and he’s stupidly wound-up. Kuro won’t harm him until the contract is up, and Kenma is comfortable in that knowledge, but he doesn’t want to discuss it  _now_. “I thought you were supposed to be making me come.”

“Come where?”

 _Hopefully on your face_. Kenma grits his teeth and bites out, “It’s a euphemism. Orgasm. I want you to get on with it.” He doesn’t want to have to introduce Kuro to any more slang, but hopefully this is the end of the talking. He’s tense enough as it is (Kuro is not helping by simply returning to soft kisses trailing up his thigh) and they had been treading dangerously close to sentimental territory.

Kenma has learned his lesson on that.

Kuro’s fingers reach the juncture of his legs before his mouth and Kenma twitches at the first tentative brush. The water hasn’t washed away all of the slickness from before his interruption, and Kuro trails his fingers around in a circle, avoiding absolutely everywhere where Kenma  _wants_  him to touch. Kenma wiggles, sliding downward a bit, and Kuro laughs against his skin and moves his other hand to grasp his hip.

So he’s more or less keeping Kenma stationary, but before he can complain, Kuro slips a finger into him. Half a heartbeat later, he moves up and kisses Kenma, on the mouth this time, swallowing the tiny noise he makes. Kenma opens an eye, a small part of him wanting Kuro away from his face, but most of his brain power is dedicated to a mixture of relief and confusion that Kuro knows how to crook his finger  _just right_.

“Why,” Kenma breathes when Kuro draws back. Of course his eyes are still open. And instead of answering, he just presses his finger upward again. It’s where Kenma wants it and the pressure is just shy of being damn near perfect, but it’s not enough in general, and all of this attention is making him antsy. To get Kuro’s mind back on track (instead of just staring up at him in something like wonder), Kenma flatly commands, “Another finger or use your tongue. I want to get this over— _ahh_!” Kuro does both, and Kenma can’t restrain an outright moan, and oh god Kuro’s wide-eyed expression up at him.

“That was an interesting noise,” he remarks innocently.

“P-Put it out of your mind,” Kenma retorts, and his mouth falls open with a pant when Kuro curls both fingers upward in him. Kuro has a  _look,_  though, when he lowers his mouth again. Kenma expects it a bit better this time, and clamps his mouth shut on another embarrassing moan when Kuro gives his clit a long, broad lick.

His gold eyes are still locked on Kenma’s face, and if Kenma weren’t worried about opening his mouth again, he’d order him to look away. The air in the shower is hot and humid, and feeling warmer by the second.

It’s obvious Kuro is aiming to earn more noises, but Kenma is stubborn. …At least, he’s stubborn up until the point where Kuro figures out the right pattern of kitten licks, sucking, and the pumping of his fingers, and then Kenma’s powerless to stop his head from falling back, mouth open. Each pant leaves his heaving chest with growing volume, and it isn’t until Kuro puts his forearm over his hips that he realizes he was raising them to try to match his pace.

It’s embarrassing how fast this is getting him there, especially since Kuro’s  _still_ staring at him most of the time, although once in awhile his eyes will flutter closed—and Kenma realizes that he’s biting back little sounds of his own. Nothing as incriminating as what he’s making, but  _satisfied_  sounding sighs and Kenma’s half-sure some of the groans are parts of his name.

All this goes out the window when Kuro abruptly releases his grip on his waist and removes his fingers. Kenma blinks down at him, confused and betrayed, because he had been  _getting there_  damn it, but Kuro answers him by dragging his thighs up over his shoulders, half-lifting him off of the shower floor, and buries his face between his legs. Kenma bites down on his lip  _hard_  at the renewed enthusiasm, and honestly the positioning could be better and he’s going to get a hell of a crick in his neck but he never wants Kuro to stop what he’s doing with his tongue.

The build is even faster this time. Kenma finally gives in with a loud moan. One hand finds Kuro’s hair, tangling his fingers in the dark hair and pulling hard enough to have to hurt, but it certainly doesn’t deter the demon. He uses his other arm to brace himself and pushes himself against Kuro, trying to get his tongue deeper. Kenma’s hand tightens in Kuro’s hair as he feels the warmth tighten in his belly.

“Kuro, I—don’t stop—” His voice wavers and he doesn’t even care, he just wants to finish. Kuro rumbles with some sort of response, and Kenma can  _feel_  it against him, and that is what finally sends him over the edge. Kenma comes with a cry, hips jumping, pulling at Kuro’s hair. Kuro fucking  _purrs_  in response.

Kuro laps at him, less aggressive but twice as eager, as Kenma comes down from his orgasm, until he twists away. Kenma gingerly scoots back a little, noting that his legs feel a little weak, and locks eyes with his demon. His pupils are huge and he’s licking his lips like he’s just had the best snack in the world, and Kenma distantly hopes that he didn’t just give him a literal taste of himself or anything. “Did I do good enough to warrant an encore sometime?” Kuro asks with a smirk.

Honestly, the flippant attitude reassures Kenma in this instance. He nearly kicks him in the head as he closes his legs and sits up entirely. “Maybe.” He’s not about to admit to his own lack of experience, and neither does he want to dwell on just how satisfying or not that had been for Kuro. “You still need to wash my hair.”

The shower, very suddenly, runs out of hot and dumps freezing cold water on them both. Kuro yelps, more directly underneath it, and Kenma scrambles back as far as he can to avoid it with his own strangled squeak. “Again?!” Kuro growls and Kenma motions for him to turn it off while he tugs the shower door open to escape. He’s only half-clean at best but he’s already cold and he has no patience for an ice bath after  _that_.

Kuro cheats and comes up out of his shadow, dripping onto the bathroom tile, leaving the water running in the shower. Kenma glares at him and orders, “Shut that off.”

“But it’s cold,” he whines.

Kenma isn’t convinced he can fully feel temperatures. “Shut it off.”

Kuro, grumbling under his breath, ducks back into the shower to shut the water off. Kenma grabs the nearer towel and runs it over his hair first, but other fingers soon take over, more gently. He can’t help but lean back against him with a contented sigh. “I’m cold now, Kenma. I think we should cuddle on the bed. And continue to be naked,” Kuro murmurs, massaging his scalp with the towel, fully aware it’s counting as bribery.

“Are you going to get grabby?” Kenma asks. He doesn’t exactly  _mind_  the idea, but he wants to know what Kuro’s thoughts on it are, and he doesn’t want the demon to have _too_  much freedom when it comes to Kenma.

“Maybe in a bit, but only if you want. First, I seriously do want to just lay down with you.” And there he goes again, saying things that could be construed as romantic.

 _Is this supposed to be aftercare?_  Kenma isn’t sure Kuro has a sex drive and he doesn’t want to tackle the thought of  _sex-_ sex right now when he’s still half blissed-out and getting progressively sleepier, and he’s pretty sure Kuro doesn’t have a concept of aftercare just yet, either. But he still finds the notion that he wants to cuddle oddly human.

“C’mon,” Kuro continues, taking Kenma’s silence as needing further persuasion, “You could use a nap. Aren’t orgasms supposed to make humans tired?”

Honestly, the rubbing down with the towel is doing more to get him sleepy than eating him out did, but Kenma doesn’t want to admit that aloud, lest it be used against him in the future. “Fine. But this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Kuro scoops him up with a happy noise. Kenma momentarily flails in his grasp, trying to right himself, and he ends up getting carried mostly bridal-style out into the main room. It would’ve been worryingly romantic-slash-emotionally-attached if Kuro didn’t dump him on the bed like a sack of potatoes.

“You’re still dripping wet!” Kenma hisses, kicking at him to keep him from the bed. “Go dry off.”

Kuro scrunches up his nose and steals Kenma’s towel. He gets literally  _just_  dry enough to prevent himself from dripping before he dives into the pile of blankets. Kenma opens his mouth to protest further, but he’s ambushed by an arm, a pillow, and a comforter, and next thing he knows, he’s wrapped very firmly in a demon and blanket burrito.

“You still smell good,” Kuro says, as if the compliment will win him enough brownie points to keep this position. He wiggles his other arm, just enough, and positions it beneath Kenma’s head a little better. …It works a lot better. Kenma’s going to wake up a sweaty mess, but it’s warm and strangely comforting to have another naked body pressed up so tightly against him. “So, did you forget that I broke your jar of blood?”

“I  _will_  kick you out of bed. Just take a stupid nap with me, Kuro,” Kenma grumbles.

“Sleep well, Kenma,” Kuro replies and presses a kiss against his hair.


	2. tsukishima: the backstory one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied yamatsukki  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kei is really tired of late realizations.

Kei didn’t realize he had  _died_  until he saw the Door. **  
**

You’d think that suddenly going from laying in a hospital bed while struggling to stay awake to read to just as suddenly standing (floating?) in a place of darkness with a giant glowing door in front of you would prompt some sort of startle reflex. But it’s fluid. Natural. Like falling asleep. The thought is somewhat comforting, even if Kei hadn’t really planned on dying today.

_Wait. I’m… dead?_  he thinks, looking down at his hands. They still  _look_  solid and human and living. They have more color than he remembers. More softness and  _flesh_. But he sees white robes that aren’t a hospital gown, and he looks down at himself to find a splash of vibrant red across his stomach in the fabric. It looks wet, but isn’t, and he doesn’t feel comfortable trying to touch it more than once.

There’s no way he can be dead, though he knows it instinctively already.

_What about the five stages?_  Aren’t those supposed to come  _before_? Alright, so he’d been see-sawing his way through depression and anger, but all he’d really gotten past is bargaining, because what does a teenager have to bargain with? Anger is far more natural for him. It had been soothing.

Now, he doesn’t feel much of anything aside from distant disappointment.

Kei reaches out and touches the Door’s frame. He feels some sort of warmth beneath it, thrumming with energy, comforting and nostalgic. Like home. The Door clicks open, swinging silently inward for him, glow intensifying. He doesn’t think much of anything save wanting to get more of that feeling. It’s been so long since he’s felt like he’s  _home_ , and it’s so nice to be in a place that doesn’t smell like antiseptic.

“K-Kei?!  _Kei_!”

That’s his brother’s voice.

The blackness drops away instantly to reveal his hospital room, and when Kei whirls around to look for Akiteru, the Door vanishes.

Akiteru is leaning over his hospital bed, one hand on Kei’s shoulder, the other holding one of his hands. There’s the monotone drone of machines, and already Kei doesn’t miss the beep-beep-beep—wait, that’s not beep-beep-beep. That’s just  _beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_.

_I’m dead_ , Kei realizes all over again, staring at the image of his sickly body.  _I looked that bad? Why is Akiteru crying already? We knew this was going to happen, probably_. He still feels irrationally betrayed. Terminal, they’d been told, but did he  _really_  need to prove it?

–

Kei didn’t realize Akiteru had died until he realized he was alone.

He’s mutely followed him around since he died; he’s so bad at telling time outside of  _Akiteru is awake now. Akiteru is asleep now. Has he eaten recently?_

Akiteru has spoken aloud all that time, narrating his thoughts and things. At first, normal things. But “Kei, this place’s strawberry shortcake looks  _so good_! I wonder if you’re frowning at me for eating this instead of dinner?” slowly turns into “Don’t worry, Kei. I’ve got it this time. I’ll figure it out for you.”

Kei wasn’t sure what  _it_  is. At first, he thought math, but then he saw his brother perform magic for the first time, and everything is reconfigured in his mind. Being dead fucking sucks, but a new glimmer of hope develops.

And then Akiteru vanishes and Kei never finds out what  _it_  was supposed to be.

–

Kei didn’t realize what Yamaguchi meant to him until he sees the other boy fighting a witch tooth and nail for his sake.

He’s getting tired of these belated realizations. He’s going to make sure this is his last.


	3. daisuga: the snowed-in one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t  
> summary: Daichi spends the night at Suga's due to weather, because despite having an unlucky streak a mile wide, Suga tends to get what he wants when it comes to his boyfriend.

There are no flickers or warnings before the lights go out, only the quiet fall of snow from outside. There’s some light coming in through the window, softened and warmed glow from the streetlights, but otherwise Daichi is abruptly left in a dark room staring at an overly bright laptop screen. He swears, mostly under his breath, and hears Sunshine meow somewhere in the direction of the bedroom.

A moment later, a yelp and a  _thud_  from the bathroom.

“You okay?” Daichi calls, squinting at the laptop. With the internet now down, he can’t do much more work on this, and he’d only end up killing his eyes further.

Sunshine responds with another meow.

“Not you. Sunny, can you find Dinah for me?”

“‘m fine!” comes the groaned response from the bathroom.

With a sigh, Daichi takes off his reading glasses and closes his laptop. No use wasting the battery on it. He pulls out his phone and finds Dinah curled up near the corner of the couch, and Sunshine meows again from the bedroom’s direction. Using his phone as a light, he makes his way to the bathroom, pushing open the propped door and shining it in. Suga’s already out of the shower, sitting on the toilet, towel thrown over his head.

Suga pulls the towel off of his hair and lets it hang off of his shoulders. “It gets dark in here without lights. Are you my rescue?”

“Did you need rescuing?” Daichi asks and sets the phone on the sink counter. The light reflects a bit off of the mirror, making them both cast odd shadows.

Suga smiles and puts up his index finger, drawing on the counter with his other. A little bit of flame sparks into life over it, like a lighter. Daichi shouldn’t have been surprised. It evens out some of their weird, creepy shadows. “Did the power go out because of the weather?”

“Looks like it. Don’t suppose you have some sort of fancy get-router-back-online magic?”

“No. Yui once tried to restore power after a blackout with magic, and it went…” Suga pauses, looking down at his lap, and Daichi can’t help but follow his gaze down. “Poorly. That’s a good word for it. The heat’s going to die, too, so if it doesn’t come back on within the next few moments, we may as well start making a nest in the bedroom.”

“You’re not going to let me drive home, are you?” Daichi asks with a wry smile. Suga gives him a brighter, more open grin in return and shakes his head. “Get dressed before you freeze, then.” Suga had been whining and pleading Daichi to spend the night tonight, so it looks like he gets his way. And Daichi thought he was supposed to be the lucky one.

“You don’t want to share body heat?” Suga asks innocently. Daichi cocks an eyebrow at him; it’s been awhile since he has been this forward. Suga reaches up and grabs Daichi’s arm, pulling it against his chest and burying his face against his bicep. He’s warm, for once, from the shower. Daichi definitely doesn’t want to let him—or the apartment—slowly descend into unnatural coolness, so surely the moral thing to do here is to go along with the suggestion.

“Go get in bed. I’ll grab the animals,” Daichi sighs. Suga hums happily and presses a kiss against his arm, before releasing him. Still mostly naked, Suga ducks into the bedroom, and Daichi is left to scoop up the jackalope and the blanket on the couch. If Daichi wasn’t so easily impressed with all things magical, he’d be most impressed at Suga’s ability to be comfortable under so many blankets.

But when you have a boyfriend who has troubles keeping up homeostasis, Daichi supposes he can forgive a little extra waking-up-drenched-in-sweat.

Okay, exactly once. And that’s very generous of him.

Dinah under one arm and blanket under the other, Daichi stumbles through the dark apartment to the bedroom. He only stubs his toe once. Sunshine tries to trip him in the hallway by winding through his feet, but somehow, he avoids that peril. (Daichi sometimes wishes his luck were as straightforward as Yamaguchi’s.)

He finds a vaguely Suga-sized lump in the bed. A precious blanket has been sacrificed to be stuffed up against the window, but the rest of them are either directly on top of the bed or half-hanging from the ceiling to form an open tent around them. There’s a faint glow from a gap in the blanket lump from Suga’s phone. Daichi puts Dinah in her cage and leaves the door cracked for Sunshine. Dinah huffs in annoyance at the preferential treatment, but he shushes her and murmurs, “You’re a guest here, and you’re scared of the dark, you dumb rabbit.”

“You’re both welcome to move in,” says the Suga-lump.

“This apartment is barely big enough for you and the cat.”

“So ask me to move in with you.”

“How about I crawl into bed with you instead, and we save that conversation for another day.” They were  _always_ saving it for another day, but Suga doesn’t say anything about that, and instead peels back the covers to allow Daichi entrance into the blanket fort.

He’s still shower-warm beneath the layers, though his hair is damp. Suga hums again and nestles in, fingers sliding up beneath Daichi’s shirt. “You’re always so warm.”

“I’m going to be sweating in five minutes, tops. And right now,  _you’re_  the warm one.”

“I  _know_ ,” Suga gushes with a bright grin. An illegally bright grin. Daichi tilts his head back so hopefully Suga doesn’t see his reddened cheeks, because holy shit, his boyfriend should not be this cute. Normal Suga is bad enough, but with tousled hair and that beam, not to mention the way he’s so eagerly wrapping himself around Daichi—it’s very unfair.

Suga makes a surprised sound when Daichi pulls him tighter against his chest with a crushing hug. “You’re a grown-ass man, how do you still look like you walked out of a fairytale?”

“Is it a dirty fairytale?” Suga asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut it, you’re not buttering me up any further.”

“Not even enough for you to take off your shirt?”

Daichi sighs against Suga’s hair. There’s already a growing wet spot near his shoulder from said wet hair, so he may as well. He wiggles out of the pile of blankets long enough to strip off his shirt, and wiggles out of his pants, too. Suga whistles. “You’re lucky I like to spoil you,” Daichi grumbles and slides back into the cocoon of warmth.

Sunshine jumps up onto the bed with a chirp. Daichi glares at him, because  _no_ , he’s not letting the cat in, too. He’ll tolerate the cat on the foot of the bed if it’s platonic sleeping, but no farther than that. “Sorry, Sunny. Papa is ensuring he doesn’t wake up as an icicle tomorrow morning,” Suga tells the black cat.

Suga molds himself against Daichi again with a happy sigh, ignoring Sunshine’s petulant meow. (One day, Daichi hopes to get as good at ignoring the cat as Suga is.) “So I’m your icicle insurance, huh?” Daichi asks.

“And eye candy, and technical booty call since you’re staying the night now.”

“Uh-huh. Doesn’t mean we’re having sex tonight.”

“Sunny, other papa is being mean to papa!”

“We’re  _definitely_  not fucking with the cat on the bed.” Maybe he doesn’t want to get as good at ignoring the cat at Suga is. “Suga, let’s just cuddle until you’re freezing again and  _then_  you can make all of the ‘warm me up’ jokes you want, okay?”

“Thaaaaank you,” Suga sings against his collarbone, chin tucked neatly into the space there. He places a small, chaste kiss against his neck. “Didn’t even have to bribe a weather spirit to get you to stay. I like being lucky again.”


	4. levken: the early one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: levken if you squint bc i'm a monster  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kenma and Lev's early days together at the firm.

They get hired at about the same time. Haiba Lev beats Kenma there by less than a month. Kenma’s a faster learner than Lev, so he catches up in no time, and they’re lumped together on projects before he can properly brace himself. 

There are whispers, of course.  _He only got the internship because his aunt is the boss._  Which, to be fair, is absolutely true. Lev had admitted as much to Kenma’s face when he’d asked. Not that he’s not talented; there are glimpses of frighteningly keen insight and a genuine knack for finding technical loopholes that interest Kenma. Lev could actually have the talent to be a lawyer underneath all of that… Lev-ness. (” _I’m going to become a partner and be the best defense attorney ever and break records on the bar! Give me a year, Kenma, I swear.” “I… don’t think that’s possible. …Any of it._ ”) 

The whispers about Kenma are more haphazard. He blew in from some vague past and doesn’t willingly talk with anyone.  _Did he really graduate already?_  and  _Who did he sleep with to get this?_  seem to be the main ones. He’s okay with that. He spends most of his forced social interaction time (courtesy of the one and only Lev) trying to see if there are any other witches in the firm. 

“Why does it take two people to get coffee…?” Kenma mumbles, eyes on his feet. 

Lev doesn’t mind having to brave the blustery cold. Even if his scarf smacks him in the face every couple of steps. “For company! Sure you don’t wanna hold one of the cups to keep your fingers warm?” 

Kenma’s been heating himself with a warmth spell since they stepped out of the office. “I’m fine. You can…” He doesn’t trail off so much as get distracted by the way Lev holds out his free hand. Kenma blinks, wide-eyed, at the gloved hand. “What?” 

“Well, my hand’s cold.” 

“You’re Russian, aren’t you supposed to be good with cold weather?” Kenma asks irately, since he has a feeling where this conversation is headed. You can’t really  _ignore_  someone like Lev, and he’s still working on methods to successfully divert conversations to where he wants them to go. It’s about as successful as herding cats. 

“это стереотип,” Lev scoffs, still awkwardly holding out his hand. 

The chalcedony earrings Kenma has in tingle as they try to help him understand the language. He’s working on it. Not for Lev’s sake, but for his aunt’s. Kenma may not want to stand out, but he doesn’t like not knowing what people are talking about. “…Зачем? твоя рука?” he bites out, brokenly, and Lev’s face lights up in a surely illegal smile. 

He babbles on in fast Russian that Kenma has no chance of keeping up, and reaches over to put his hand into the pocket of Kenma’s jacket. Kenma stiffens, and Lev’s cold fingers wrap around his own. 

“Your coat is so thin, how are you this warm? You must be one of those lucky people who are walking heaters,” Lev says, switching languages smoothly, and Kenma turns away to hopefully hide his pink cheeks. “We need to get you a proper coat.” 

“I’m fine. What are you doing?” Kenma asks, trying to pull his hand out of his pocket. With Lev’s hand jammed in there, too, he’s basically stuck. 

“I told you, I’m cold. And you’re warmer than coffee. Is it alright?” 

“…You’re weird,” Kenma huffs. 


	5. levyaku: the disappointed mom one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied levyaku (mentions of yamatsukki and kuroken)  
> rating: g  
> summary: Morisuke doesn't approve of ghosts or demons or spirits dating humans.

“Look, I’m happy he’s happy. I’m  _happy_  for him, right?” 

“You don’t look very happy,” Lev observes with a squint. Yaku looks up at him with flat ears and a sour expression. 

“I just don’t see how this isn’t going to end in anything but heartbreak. The lengths Tadashi has already gone to…” The bakeneko sighs and most of the anger drains out of his (relatively) small frame. Lev feels himself relax the tiniest amount, too. Anger and fire magic don’t mix well. “I like Kei. I’m happy he’s doing so well. But a relationship between a spirit—even a higher spirit—and a human just… It’s destined for a bad end. I wish they hadn’t done this.” 

Yaku gives Lev another sidelong glance. Lev pretends to let that point fly far over his head. “At least he’s not a demon.” 

“Do  _not_  get me started on Kuroo!” Yaku spits, tail frizzing out again. “I’ll be happy for Tadashi and Kei but—does Kenma have a death wish?!  _Why_  does he want to hang around that thing!” 

“Kuro is nice! He hasn’t eaten me or Kenma, or anyone else really, and you’ve seen how he treats him. Kenma deserves someone to make him happy,” Lev points out, tone firm this time. 

“How about anyone who  _isn’t_  a demon? Doesn’t he have a tengu keen on him?” Yaku waits a long, heavy pause, and then asks quietly (avoiding Lev’s gaze), “What about you?” 

“You’re a silly kitty today!” Lev cries and scoops Yaku up under the arms. He hisses on reflex, squirming, air heating up around them. 

“Lev, I  _will_  set you on fire!” 

“Good,” Lev replies with a sharp grin. “I am  _so close_  to figuring out fire magic! Please teach me, Yaku!” 

The bakeneko blanches at that. “Put me down.”

“Will you stop complaining about how no one’s good enough for your babies? At least Suga is  _actually_  happy for them.” 

“Sugawara should not be used as a measuring stick for good decisions.” 

“Suga thinks we’re cute together,” Lev says happily and Yaku finally lets the subject of boyfriends drop entirely. 


	6. daisuga: the cooking one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t  
> summary: Suga shouldn't be allowed alone in the kitchen. Daichi should learn this.

“What did you do,” Daichi asks, staring wide-eyed at the kitchen. For lack of a better term (and he  _wants_  a better term), there’s black  _sludge_  over most of it, including his boyfriend. Sunshine meows from atop the fridge. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Suga coughs, and his voice is worryingly hoarse. He smears some of the black gunk off of his face and accidentally into his hair. “It’s not poisonous, I swear.” 

“Would you even notice if it was?” Daichi asks and sets down the take-out he’d brought along—y’know,  _actual_ food to keep his precious but overzealous boyfriend out of the kitchen. He picks his way through the cleaner patches of the floor and first rescues the cat. 

Suga doesn’t answer, sighs, and dumps a half-melted pot into the sink. Daichi reaches over and puts it in the trash instead. 

“Suga. What were you trying to do?” 

“I found this old cookbook from Yui’s mother…” 

“Who was a witch?” Daichi asks. Suga sighs again and nods. “Sugawara Koushi, what have I said about witch cooking.” 

“It wasn’t a potion, it was brownies,” he mutters darkly. “And it only needed a little bit of magic folded into it!” 

Daichi facepalms.

“They were going to be a surprise for you,” Suga adds, because he’s nothing if not vindictive when he feels wronged. Daichi isn’t sure why he’s blaming  _him_ , since he’s the good soul who is probably going to help him clean this up. And had brought him food. And who doesn’t let him cook for  _good reason_. But fuck, his heart’s melting already at the image of Suga in his (now also ruined) apron trying to mix brownie batter, tongue stuck out in concentration…

“Fine, I’m sorry you’re such a terrible cook. And I’m sorry I won’t get to eat your undoubtedly delicious mess.” 

Suga, locking eyes with him, reaches over into a pile of the goop on the stove. Before Daichi can stop him, he sticks his finger into it, scooping up a fair bit, and shoves it into his mouth. 

Suga stands there, his finger in his mouth, eyes defiantly on his boyfriend. He doesn’t move. Once the kneejerk response of  _oh fuck please don’t let it actually be poisonous_  passes, Daichi folds his arms and waits it out. Suga is stubborn, though. 

Daichi gives in. “That tastes terrible, huh?” 

Suga nods. 

“Will you spit it out if I turn the other way?” 

Suga nods again. 

Daichi indulgently turns around to let his boyfriend spit it back out into the sink. It saves Suga’s pride—and it stops him from seeing the overly fond smile Daichi is trying to get rid of. Suga does not need the encouragement. 


	7. ot4: the kiss one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: bokuaka & kuroken (and... sort of bokuakakuroken. and bokuroo and akaken. hides face in hands)  
> rating: g  
> summary: Akaashi still doesn't think much of the human idea of kissing. They think even less of Bokuto's liking for it.

Akaashi feels a pang of pity when they see the expression Kenma makes upon seeing Bokuto seize Kuroo by the collar and kiss him soundly on the mouth. Kenma silently closes his own mouth, pressing it into a firm line when he sees the way Kuroo stares blankly for a moment after Bokuto breaks away. 

Gratitude. It’s supposed to be gratitude. But, like Akaashi originally thought, it means something different in human culture. They had  _warned Bokuto_  -

But Akaashi is beginning to worry that the kissing may already mean something different for them. Bokuto  _likes_  it, that much is clear. Kuroo does, too, albeit in a different way. And Kenma just as clearly  _does not_. 

“He’s thanking him,” Akaashi drawls. Kenma looks up at them, not even able to muster up a cover for his pout. 

“They’ve done this before,” Kenma mutters. 

“It doesn’t mean that in human culture, does it?” 

“…It can,” Kenma says softly. 

“Do you want him to stop?” 

“Why are you acting like his gatekeeper?” 

It’s Akaashi’s turn to get caught off guard, it seems. And worse, they’re not sure they have an answer. They can’t deny the accidental behavior. It’s not the realization that they’d been doing it so much as  _why_  that staggers them, however; why  _would_  they bother being possessive of Bokuto? And where his mouth may or may not go? 

 _Because I know it means something_ , Akaashi privately surmises. It’s a sour truth. “What does kissing mean in human culture?” 

The witch looks down and away. “Different things.” 

“It means attachment, right?” 

Kenma shrugs as indifferently as he can. It’s not really believable. 

“Have  _you_  kissed Kuroo?” Akaashi asks politely. Kenma’s shoulders hunch a little bit further. “Would you mind if I tried something?” 

Kenma peeks back up at him. Akaashi reaches over and tucks some of his stray hair back behind his ear. Kenma glances sideways, just for a second, to see the other two’s attention on them, and Akaashi knows they’re on the same page. They lean down and press their lips against Kenma’s. It’s an odd feeling, light and warm and they can’t deny that it’s strange. Akaashi cups Kenma’s jaw carefully in their claws, and Kenma opens his mouth, just the smallest bit— 

There is a  _shriek_  of outrage from Kuroo. Both Akaashi and Kenma pull away in unison. Bokuto looks horrifically close to tears, and Kuroo has a hand pressed to his chest, the other on Bokuto’s shoulder for support, like he’s about to fall over from the pain of it all. 

“A-Akaashi,” Bokuto whimpers, raising his claws to his mouth, “you like doing human stuff now? Can’t  _we_  do human stuff instead?” 

“You’ve kissed Kuroo several times now.” 

“I didn’t know _you_ liked it!” 

Akaashi isn’t actually sure they do. “Why didn’t you ever ask to kiss me instead…?” they mumble, arm-wings crossed. 

“CanIkissyouinstead.” 

Well, that’s predictable. 


	8. daisuga: the research mode one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t  
> summary: Suga's in Research Mode, and Daichi isn't having any of it today.

Daichi has a magical boyfriend. A magical boyfriend prone to burying himself in books for twenty hours straight, and who he can’t even properly threaten with him killing himself out of stress/lack of eating/etc because of said magical bullshit. 

The magical boyfriend also has a stubborn streak about a mile wide. And has been known to use cruel tactics to get what he wants. (Tactics include, but are not limited to: puppy eyes, kisses, blowjobs, and twice, sleep spells when Suga’s been in a particularly crabby “i must work, sawamura, so please fuck off” moods. Daichi likes those least, but they’re also the easiest to fight against.) 

Right now, Suga has his apartment magically locked and warded to keep him out. Daichi knows he’s been in there at least four days straight. Even Oikawa’s starting to worry at this point, and that’s saying something. So Daichi, the group’s unofficial (but totally official) Weapon of Suga Destruction, has been sent in to pry him out to see sunlight and get fresh air. 

Sugawara Koushi’s apartment is probably one of the best-spelled locations in the city. It has had almost five years of magical enhancements, wards, charms, and spells on it, and has been known to keep even higher spirits out without breaking. 

So Daichi has a stubborn boyfriend with too much magical knowledge. 

That’s okay, because Daichi has a magic-eating sword. 

He pries the tip of it into the gap between the frame and actual door—that’s what you get for living in such a shitty apartment—and the door pops open like it hadn’t been shut, much less locked. Daichi finds Suga upside-down on the couch, face red from all the blood rushing to his head, Sunshine perched on the back of the couch between his feet. His hair looks really cute flopped back like that. 

Daichi puts the vorpal sword back into his dogtags and Suga gets over his shock. “Daichi, that’s rude!” 

“So’s ignoring my texts. I’ve been sent on an extraction mission. Target acquired.” 

“Don’t you military at me,” Suga says, eyes narrowed. He waves his book—one amongst a terrifying pile beside him on the floor (and the mess of the rest of his apartment)—and immediately adds, “One more chapter.” 

“Sunshine, move or you’re going to get kicked,” Daichi warns. Suga narrows his eyes further and hugs his book to his chest. Daichi walks over and stands over him, smiling in a way he knows creeps everyone the fuck out. “Last chance, Suga.” 

“Don’t make me hex you,” Suga threatens. This close, Daichi can see the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion in every line of his body. It makes him want to just shut him in his bedroom to sleep, but no, he’s been ordered to bring him outside. “I need to figure this out, and—” 

“I warned you,” Daichi says. He drops a knee onto the couch and gets his arms beneath Suga—one under his neck, one under the backs of his knees—and lifts. Suga flails with a squawk, too slow (from exhaustion or hunger?) to completely roll out of his grasp, and Daichi gets him up in his arms, bridal-style. 

For all of two seconds, before he shifts him and throws Suga over his shoulder. Suga squawks again, managing to turn it into an almost-threatening snarl at the last moment, and smacks his ass—actually hard—in retaliation. “Put me down!” 

Daichi slaps his ass back. Two can play at this game, and right now, he knows he has the advantage. (As if it isn’t obvious that a little bit of manhandling distracts Suga like nothing else.) “We’re going for a date in the park. And then I’m making you take a nap at my place. And then—”

“And then you stop mothering me,” Suga huffs. “Daichi, I’m serious. I really need to get this done if I’m going to banish that babadook—” 

“It’s not near anyone. I’m  _not_  letting you collapse from exhaustion and leave it to Yamaguchi to handle, so don’t try playing that card, either.” 

Suga squirms in his grasp, but it’s halfhearted at best. Daichi knows he’s won, but he also feels a little bad. A  _little_. 

“How about we skip the date, go over to your place, and make sure I’m tired enough for that nap?” Suga tries. 

Nevermind the fact that Suga is basically  _always_  tired enough for a nap. Or a thirty-year hibernation. Daichi tries not to smile, because he’ll hear it in his voice, and replies, “Suga, going from one apartment to another is not that much better for you. You need fresh air. Sunlight.  _Food_.” 

“How about instead I eat—”

“Suga.” 

His magical boyfriend whines in annoyance against his back. Daichi pats his ass sympathetically. (Just to torment him a little more.) 


	9. yamatsukki: the wall one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki  
> rating: t  
> summary: Just another day in Yamaguchi Tadashi's new life as a ghost hunter. (Well, mostly; the foot thing is new.)

“Stop laughing and  _help_ ,” Tadashi grumbles, half-worried and half-exasperated. Kei has been laughing for something like five minutes straight. His normally taciturn companion is supposed to be—well,  _taciturn_. Not rolling through the air with tears in his eyes. 

Tadashi feels something  _lick_  his  _foot_  and he gives a yelp and kicks. He feels something slimy and wet and warm between his toes. 

“Oh my  _fucking god help me right now_!” he practically screams and tries to fight his way through the wall with his free arm. 

“No, hold on, I want to—“ Kei pulls Suga’s bag off of Tadashi’s shoulder. Or tries to; it catches where it’s stuck in the wall, too. He shrugs and digs through it, pulling out the old camera that was supposed to help in tracking down spirits. Not that they need it anymore, since it’s trying to make out with Tadashi’s feet. He’s sort of glad he doesn’t have any sort of foot fetish, but fuck, he’s ticklish— 

Tadashi lets out a shriek when the tongue returns and pokes at his toes. He slams his hand on the wall and yanks again, nearly crying with laughter, and something wet and slimy wraps around his ankle to try to keep his foot still. “Tsu—Tsukkiiiiiii, please, pl-please help me, it’s—o-oh go-ahahaha, f-fuck, it’s licking—ahaha!” Tadashi can’t write runes with only one hand free, at least not the ones that will shove him back into intangibility. And Kei is being infuriatingly unhelpful, fiddling with the camera. 

The blond messes with it until he loses control of his corporeal form and it slips through his fingers. It falls with a nasty  _crunch_  noise into the bathtub. Tadashi lets out a nearly hysterical cackle, only some of it a result from the thing  _sucking on his toes holy fuck gross hell no_. 

“H-Help me out,” Tadashi begs again, voice breathless, in between giggles. 

“I’m going to tell everyone that you got stuck in a wall,” Kei warns. Tadashi nods, unable to answer between new peals of laughter. “Give me your hand.” 

“G-Go back and get that—ahaha—f-fucking thing off of me-ee-heee!” Tadashi smacks the wall again, nails digging into the flaking wallpaper, and this time he can’t help but start drawing runes. Some help Kei is being. He can’t free himself with his intangibility spell, but if he’s careful, he could just break the wall around himself. 

At least they can tell Suga that being stuck doesn’t mean getting chopped in half. 

Tadashi is pretty sure Suga never wanted the spell tested like this. Tadashi is pretty sure not even  _Kenma_  wanted it tested like this, and Kenma is incredibly anal when it comes to the details like this. 

Flames lick up around his palm and he starts burning his way as carefully as he can through the shitty, thin wall. But it’s hard to do when he’s shaking with laughter and already fairly magically exhausted. Kei phases halfway through the wall to take a peek at his foot’s assailant, unintentionally mirroring Tadashi’s position, and Tadashi burns his hand through the wall beside him. 

He crumbles his other leg free of the ancient plaster and rotted wood. Now he’s more hanging than standing, and it’s already uncomfortable, but the thing behind him has paused, maybe out of curiosity, in its ticklish assault. 

No, nevermind. It returns with new vigor, and sucks his toe into its slimy mouth. 

Tadashi’s laughter abruptly drops into a low, rough moan. 

Kei slowly pulls his head back through the wall to stare at him. Tadashi’s face burns, but the worst part about this humiliation is that he can’t even defend himself, since it swings back into ticklish again moments later, and he’s left wheezing weakly in the wall. 

In the end, Morisuke shows up to bail them both out and incinerate the slimy spirit. 

(That night, Kei tries to make Tadashi make that noise again. Tadashi doesn’t feel bad in the  _least_  for kicking him in the face.) 


	10. daisuga: the migration one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: g  
> summary: Suga takes Daichi out for a dragon migration.

“You spend an hour explaining to me how only witches use brooms and then you use one. With me on it. You’re a sadist,” Daichi says, arms  _tight_  around Suga’s waist. His boyfriend tips his head back with a musical laugh. 

“I just wanted to make sure you knew how special this occasion is,” Suga says with a smile in his voice. “It can be difficult to get a witch to help you enchant their broom for someone else to use. Be proud of the lengths I went to for this date.” 

“You still haven’t told me what it  _is_. Aside from shitty weather.” 

“Patience, Daichi.” 

It isn’t long, however, before the first dragon breaks through the ceiling of clouds. Daichi sucks in a breath and lets it out as a soft swear against Suga’s hair, and they fly a little higher to see the next group break free of the clouds. It’s been awhile since Suga has staggered him like this—Daichi likes to think he’s been getting his tolerance of magical bullshit up—but he’s hard-pressed to think of  _anything_  as awe-inspiring as this. 

A  _massive_  black wyvern with a cream belly ducks out of the clouds right over them, and Daichi cranes back, probably dangerously so, to try to see it all. Wonder and curiosity have made him forget how high up they are, or how unsteady the broom’s spell is, or anything about this at all. All Daichi can see are dragons overhead, and even the storm ceases to bother him; the only thing he feels is his hands on Suga’s hips. 

Suga’s hand is warm when he puts it over Daichi’s own. 

Daichi leans up far enough to catch Suga giving him a fond look over his shoulder. Daichi grins, still a little off-kilter from the sheer scale of this all, and Suga’s smile brightens in return. A dragon bellows overhead and a pair of its babies fly out from underneath its wings. 

“Can I get a pet dragon next?” Daichi asks. 

“Ask Oikawa how much trouble they are.” 


	11. daisuga: the sleep spell one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: g  
> summary: Suga is not a morning person. Suga is, however, a magical person, and that gives Daichi enough reason to fear him in the mornings.

Daichi loves Suga. He does. Despite a lot of their weird bickering and despite all of the magical bullshit added to his life. Despite when Sunshine misbehaves or Suga teases Daichi or forgets to text him about a job so Daichi spends a sleepless night worrying over him. 

Daichi even loves him in the mornings, arguably when Suga is at his most terrifying. 

Suga’s not a morning person. Daichi knew that getting into this relationship. He’s mostly come to terms with it. It means a lot of quiet mornings for him and no chance of ever dragging Suga out for a jog before noon. That’s okay. But Suga is also simultaneously both a light sleeper and a very heavy sleeper. 

Just Daichi getting out of bed in the morning is usually enough to get Suga stirring, although he’s not completely conscious. Normal people can get like that, too, but they’ll usually just roll over and go back to sleep. Nine times out of ten, that’s what Suga does, too, albeit with grumpy snuffling noises. (Adorable grumpy snuffling noises.) 

But, probably through years of facing down spirits and monsters and  _who knows what_ , Suga has also developed the worrying ability to use minor magic while mostly asleep. (Or drunk, or high, or incredibly sick.) Daichi considers it some sort of muscle memory type thing. That, he can understand. He’s accidentally hit people in his sleep, too, so that’s not the part he’s upset about. 

But that last time out of ten, when Suga is  _just barely_  awake enough to be indignant that he’s awake, that’s when Daichi is rightfully terrified of his boyfriend. The first handful of times, spread out over almost a year, are mostly just sleep spells to drag him back into bed. Annoying, and he scolds Suga for it after the fact, but he can deal with that. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he could use  _other_  spells in that state, too. 

Daichi still brings up the time when Suga wrote a  _dark_  rune and made the bedroom pitch black for about three hours. Magical darkness is fucking scary. (On the other hand, they don’t bring up the time Suga almost set the bed on fire. That had been legitimately scary, mostly because Suga had passed out from magical exhaustion immediately afterward. It had only been Daichi’s second encounter with that happening.) 

So Daichi is understandably a little wary when his boyfriend  _doesn’t_  adorably and grumpily snuffle and roll over in the mornings. Suga groans, and props himself up on one elbow. Barely. His head is still hanging down at a worrying angle, mostly still on the pillow. Daichi waits a beat, shirt in his hand, not moving to see if Suga’s really awake or not. 

Suga shifts so he can reach out to Daichi. His fingers miss but brush the edge of the shirt he’s wearing. “Mmggh,” Suga says coherently. Daichi’s pretty sure it’s not a spell. 

“I have to get up,” Daichi replies softly and scoots out of the way of another grab. 

Suga flops back onto the bed, face-first, a little over into Daichi’s side. He starts drawing on the sheet, so Daichi quickly grabs his hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. 

Suga twists and rolls, taking a couple tries, grabbing weakly at Daichi’s arm for help. Eventually, he’s sort of propped up again, this time more on his side. He peers sleepily up at Daichi. His hair is a floppy, fluffy mess, sticking up every which way, and there are indents on his cheek from the pillow. Only one eye is open, just barely, just a sliver of dark brown between his long lashes. The soft dawn light from behind the blinds casts him in a frankly ethereal glow, something Daichi would never say aloud, but it leaves him breathless all the same. 

Despite the fact that his boyfriend is probably about to try to curse him, Daichi can’t help but lean forward and kiss him. Suga has morning breath and he’s still asleep enough that he can’t really reciprocate, but he seems to register that he’s being given affection, and hums happily. Suga makes a tiny sound that might even be a word. 

Daichi feels the sleepiness overtake him abruptly, and he slumps against Suga. Well, shit. One day, he’ll figure out how to escape from his boyfriend’s magic, but until then, it looks like late mornings and grumpy,  _needy_ , adorable boyfriend wrapping himself around Daichi before he falls asleep again.


	12. kuroken: the nightmare one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kenma isn't sure how to handle a demon's nightmares. But he'll try.

Kenma wakes up to the sound of crying. 

He stares up at the ceiling, mind working overtime to try to figure this out. It’s clearly Kuro; even if the voice hadn’t given it away, the gentle shaking of the bed would. It’s not  _loud_  crying, but it’s noticeable. Kenma isn’t sure  _why_  Kuro would be crying, though, and despite the way it makes his heart clench in his chest, he has to take a moment to gather himself before trying to help. Why would a demon cry? 

As quietly as he can, Kenma rolls onto his side, and finds Kuro sitting on the edge of the bed. His shoulders are shaking, and his whole body is tense. Kenma reaches out and touches his back. Though his fingertips are light against his skin, Kuro jumps a foot in the air, nearly falling off the bed. 

He doesn’t say anything, either, and just stares at Kenma with red-lined eyes and water smeared across his cheeks. 

“Can I help?” Kenma asks. Kuro doesn’t answer, which isn’t reassuring. “What was it?” He doesn’t put enough force into it to be an order, but it’s the middle of the night and concern is beginning to gnaw at his brain; he doesn’t have the time or capacity to be more polite about this. 

“A… Ah, hell.” Kuro presses his palms against his eyes and sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. “A bad dream, believe it or not.” 

“You’re dreaming again?” Kenma asks. He can’t completely keep the surprise out of his voice. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Memories?” 

“No,  _dreams_. Things I’m pretty damn sure never happened in my human life.” 

“…Do you want to talk about it?” Kenma asks awkwardly, because he still doesn’t know how to broach talks about Kuro’s human life. In a lot of ways, he doesn’t _want_  to know. 

“It was… weird. Silly. I’m o—” He cuts off. He was going to say ‘okay’. He was going to lie. Kuro pulls his hands away from his face with another deep breath, and at least this time it’s calmer, more even. He’s stopped shaking. “…I’ll be okay.” 

“You’ve been sleeping more lately,” Kenma murmurs, mostly to himself. “Maybe that’s drawing more dreams out…” Then maybe it was only a matter of time until a nightmare happened? He still doesn’t want to think about what could give a demon nightmares. 

“Can I,” Kuro stars awkwardly, reaching out for Kenma. The witch freezes, but doesn’t shake his head. Kuro slides back into bed, arms coming around Kenma’s shoulders, the rest of his body pressing in close. 

…Kenma can’t deny him cuddling after arguably his first nightmare.


	13. yamatsukki: the cat ears one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki  
> rating: t  
> summary: Tadashi only wants one thing for his birthday. (Well, okay, two.)

“But it’s my  _birthday_ ,” Tadashi whines. Kei still maintains his affronted expression. “That’s the rule. I get what I want on my birthday, Tsukki.” 

“Just because Sugawara and Yaku—”

“The precedent has been set!” Tadashi exclaims. “And I want to see you as a bakeneko. Cat ears and tail. I  _know_  you can still do it.” 

“What if I said I couldn’t,” Kei mutters with a pinched expression. 

True, it’s been getting harder for him to change his form, but Tadashi is absolutely certain it’s still possible. He glares up at the blond spirit. 

“Why can’t you ask for normal birthday presents?” Kei grouses. 

“Like what?” Tadashi asks, maybe a little hopefully.  _Please say sex, please say sex_. 

“Like… I don’t know.” Kei backs down, and Tadashi pouts again. They haven’t done anything below the waist, despite mutual tangibility and  _definite_  interest. But Kei is strangely, frustratingly,  _adorably_  shy when it comes to such things, it turns out. And Tadashi doesn’t want to pressure him, even by something as innocent as bringing it up.

Maybe not the wisest course. But if  _he_  brings it up as a gift idea, then it sounds manipulative and just that—a gift. Not something he wants to  _share_  with Kei. And all of that other sweet, sappy shit. He wants it to be Kei who brings it up, and he wants it to be on both of their terms. 

In lieu of that, he wants Kei to have cat ears and a cat tail. 

“Do I  _have_  to?” Kei huffs, arms folded tight across his chest. 

“Do you have any  _other_  ideas?” Tadashi asks, hopeful again. 

Kei chews on his lip, and fucking hell, Tadashi  _knows_  they’re both thinking it. Oikawa can probably hear it from across town. Eyes on Kei’s bitten lip, Tadashi is largely unaware he’s leaning in, until Kei grabs him by the hair and tugs him back down—and away. 

“Ow, ow ow owwww! Tsukki, mean! I didn’t pull your hair on your birthday!” 

“Actually, you did.” 

“You  _liked_  it—”

“Just shut up and pick what color cat ears you want.” 

It’s a good consolation prize. And Tadashi bullies him into remaining tangible long enough to take a picture, too. 

It’s his phone background for the next year and a half. 


	14. au: the reverse one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: p much the same as canon bbac except with 100% more accidental sexual tension  
> rating: m  
> summary: AU: What if all of the roles in bbac were swapped along pairing axes?

Daichi has no problems taking this guy on in a fight, even if he’s taller; Daichi knows he has the muscle and the magic to back himself up.  _Even if_ , a small voice in his head traitorously points out,  _that the other man is a witch_. The man standing barefoot in the circle looks simultaneously roguishly handsome and wildly out of place in a rumpled and torn suit, and as Daichi tenses for action, he runs a hand back through his messy black hair.

“Look, man. Can you just leave? I’d really hate to trip over the finish line when I got this far already, y’know?” the witch requests, tone polite but with an undercurrent of exasperation. 

“I can’t let you summon a demon in the middle of the city. I can’t let you summon a demon  _period_ ,” Daichi replies. 

“It’s not what you think,” the witch tries. “Please, just go. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

 

\--

 

Daichi and Suga jump back in unison as a bakeneko  _pops_  into existence over the bookstore counter. “ _Shit_ ,” Daichi hisses and Yuu reacts fastest, thrusting his ghostly hand through Suga’s skull. The man crumples with a strangled sound. “Goddamnit, Noya, what did I tell you about possession?!” 

“It was only a little! Asahi, sleep soot!” Yuu chides, elbowing Asahi to get him moving toward the other workers. He faces off against the impossibly tall bakeneko, and Daichi swallows down his nerves. Bakeneko are cat spirits, so for one to get so large… Either this one has a taste for humans or he is very,  _very_  old.

“Hi!” the higher spirit says happily, eyes sharp and long tail waving behind him. “I’m going to ask you  _once_  to stop bothering Tadashi, ‘kay?”

The wannabe luck spirit behind the very confused blond teen gives a squeak. Despite the bakeneko’s sharp teeth and threat, no one’s outright hostile or attacking yet, so this can still be salvaged, right? 

Daichi groans when the nightgaunt shambles through the door.

 

\--

 

“That’s not a selkie,” Daichi says dumbly, staring at the attractive man in the tub.

“Mean!” said selkie squeals. 

“A siren, maybe?” Daichi suggests. Hajime pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Absolutely not. Are you trying to say that  _that_  is meant to be alluring?” 

“So mean!” the maybe-selkie squeals again and rolls over in the bathtub, inadvertently showing off more of the black tattoos trailing down from his shoulders. “Don’t humans have rules against torture  _and_  kidnapping? Is there no crime you won’t commit?” 

“That’s all he says. All the time,” Hajime deadpans. “Nothing else about who he is, why he’s here, or who sent him.” 

There’s a knock on the front door, jarring them out of their discussion. The maybe-selkie sits up a little higher in the tub, blinking curiously. Hajime slams the door behind him and goes to answer the other while Daichi re-wards it. 

The day gets better and better when Hajime opens the door and is met with a very,  _very_  angry owl tengu. 

 

\--

 

"First question," Ryuunosuke says, holding his empty glass like a microphone. It drips onto the table in front of him. 

Chikara arches an eyebrow, still looking a little too sober for this. Daichi thinks it's hilarious. He thinks most of tonight is hilarious, but god, the  _flirting_. And Drunk Suga is the icing on the cake. "What are you doing?" Chikara asks when it becomes clear that the other man is not going to leave him alone.  

"Interviewin' you," Ryuu replies. "I already got my interview with Noya." 

Daichi glances up at the ghost reclining on the back of the booth. (It's a step up from when he'd been swinging on the bar's lamps with his own rendition of  _Wrecking Ball_. Although Ryuunosuke had found it hysterical.) Daichi likes their apparent instant friendship, but he's still getting used to someone else interacting so easily with him. Asahi catches his eye and smiles nervously, echoing his sentiment. 

"Right. Okay, go ahead," Chikara asks and sips primly at his drink. 

"First—are you single?" Ryuunosuke asks solemnly. Chikara doesn't quite choke on his drink, but he does snort a little into it. 

Suga glances back in their direction just in time to have heard that. He breaks into delightful peals of laughter, throwing an arm around Chikara's shoulders for support. Daichi can't help but smile at the open (drunken) honesty in his laughter. He pretends all of the warmth in his chest is from the buzz. 

 

\--

 

“He smells like black magic,” Kenma mumbles, hand up covering his nose. His sleeve is too long,  _again_ , but Tetsurou should stop being surprised; all he insists on wearing is Tetsurou’s own clothes, despite how poorly it fits his smaller frame. 

Well, smaller frame when he’s not trying to intimidate people. Which, admittedly, was all of  _once_. Tetsurou misses it fondly. It had been cute. …And terrifying. 

“Yo, why do you smell like black magic, Sawamura?” Tetsurou calls with a grin. Daichi flinches and looks away with a scowl. Touchy subject? “I won’t pry, but I don’t want you teasing me for saddling me with a demon anymore. …Okay, and then I’ll pry, because I’m  _really fucking curious_. You never struck me as the black magic type!”

“It’s not like that,” Daichi mutters darkly. 

Kenma draws closer to Tetsurou, wrapping his arm around Tetsurou’s arm, sleeve still pressed against his nose. “I think it’s necromancy,” he adds quietly, again so Daichi can’t hear. 

“Oooh, dabbling in the  _good_  stuff?”

“I need to get home,” Daichi grinds out, then gives them a cold look. “Don’t let Kozume eat anything bad tonight, got it?”

“Scout’s honor. We’re just cleaning up a couple things before they turn into poltergeists—or hey, worse. Wouldn’t want a  _demon_  running around town, would we?” 

 

\--

 

"Akiteru?" Kei asks, frankly feeling shell-shocked by the unexpected blow that is seeing his brother before him again. From across the crowd, he can see Akiteru's mouth move, and Kei leans forward on the branch, despite the way it creaks ominously beneath him. That's the only warning he gets before it cracks and he drops a foot in the air. 

Kei lunges for the trunk as the branch breaks entirely. With a shout, Akiteru begins pushing his way through clingy ghosts, toward him. Kei clings like a koala to the tree for about half a second before someone latches onto a foot and he's yanked off, bark shredding his hands. He probably blacks out a little, or is possessed a little, because next thing he knows, he has two protective ghosts standing over him: his brother, both arms blackened and ending in sharp points for fingers, and the small, loud one from Yui's store. Nishinoya something. 

"Kei?" Akiteru asks, catching his eye and immediately dropping the somewhat terrifying protective big (demonic) brother act. He sinks to his knees and pulls Kei up, first into a sitting position, and then into an awkwardly positioned hug. Kei doesn't mind. "Oh, thank god, you're okay. But what are you  _doing_ here?!" 

"Yeah. Um, you shouldn't be here." The Tsukishima brothers jump and Nishinoya whirls around with fists raised in a hilariously bad fighting stance. 

The ghostly crowd has largely dispersed, forced away by the tiny, disheveled presence of the demon. Kenma blinks big, gold eyes. 

"What are  _you_ doing here?!" Nishinoya demands suspiciously. 

Kenma points at Kei. Beneath too-long sleeves, he can see that his fingertips, too, end in claws. Out of the corner of his eye, Kei can see Akiteru look down at his own hands and make the connection. "Yamaguchi is here, too, right? That's, uh… probably a bad idea. Kuro and Lev thought it'd be best for you two to leave."

"At least  _someone_  is thinking clearly about how dangerous tonight is," Nishinoya exclaims, seemingly taking that at face value. 

Kei shoots him an irritated look. "Then why are  _you_ here?" 

"And miss this kickass party? Fuck no!" 

 

\--

 

“I-I can’t do this,” Tadashi breathes. Kei looks up at him, eyebrow raised, and tugs the headphones down off of his ears. Tadashi knows they hadn’t been on; they’re a defense. Tadashi doesn’t blame him, especially when he can reply to him in public, under his breath, and most people would think he’s just mumbling lyrics to some song. It had been such a sweet gesture. 

But now, that sweet gesture just stings. How can Tadashi think about some sort of black magic ritual that involves hurting Kei? Binding him with some sort of years-long spell, just for Tadashi’s own benefit? Aside from the initial shock, Kei has been an incredibly good sport about all of this magic and ghost stuff, and Tadashi is beginning to feel like he’s taking advantage of him. He shouldn’t have tried this. Lev was wrong; he  _can’t_  do this. It had been little more than vanity and stupidity to think he could become another kind of spirit just because he _tried_. 

“Yamaguchi?” Kei asks, eyebrows raising higher, taking in Tadashi’s expression. “What’s wrong?” 

“That ritual—I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean? Kuroo’s the one doing it—”

“I can’t do that to you. It’s too big of a risk to me. I can’t—” He can’t risk himself becoming a demon, can he? Kenma’s nice, and Kuroo’s nice, but Tadashi _can’t_  do that to himself. Demons are… No, he can’t risk that. Not to himself and not to Kei. “I’m so sorry, Tsukki,” Tadashi says earnestly and turns and leaves through the wall of the train. 

 

\--

 

“Should a priest be drinking so much?” Chikara asks pleasantly. Yui hides a grin in her sleeve; she’d been able to smell Ukai’s breath, but leave it to Chikara to actually  _say_  something about it. 

“Don’t pick fights with priests,” she mumbles. Takeda smiles fondly as Ukai snorts at them. “We’re here on other business, actually—”

“Business that  _ain’t_  taking jobs from little girls,” Ukai says firmly. 

“I don’t think that’s your call to make,” Yui replies. The little girl with the shock of orange hair nods enthusiastically, still attached to Yui’s hip. “Now, sweetie, mind telling me how a tengu kidnapped a witch?”

“He was big and mean and scary and—”

“And I’m sure one of my clan would  _never_  kidnap a human witch,” Takeda breaks in. He frets with his claws, almost nervous, but mostly just sounding defensive. “There must be other circumstances.” 

“And it’s  _our_  fuckin’ business, not yours,” Ukai adds in a growl.

“Sorry, but we’ve already been hired,” Chikara says with another sunny smile. 

 

\--

 

Suga steps over Daichi’s severed head with a burning in his eyes and his mouth a grim line. Daichi will be okay. These people here,  _now_ , are the ones who need his help. Daichi… is either fine or not, and there’s nothing that Suga can do to help him. That thought is a heavy weight in his stomach.

Asahi stares up at him, still seated in front of the circle, looking exhausted. Oikawa, inside the circle, doesn’t look much better, curled up in a nest of half-grown scales and wings and a tail. He looks up at Suga, and Suga sees that he’s holding onto his own tail like some sort of comfort thing. “You’re going to have to try to kill me,” Oikawa starts miserably.

Suga can’t help but look down at Daichi’s body. He feels sick. “There’s got to be another way.”

“No, I mean—you’re going to have to  _try_. I highly doubt you’d be able to actually kill me here, even with a vorpal blade. You’re going to have to stab me through the heart, and maybe that will be enough to shock Ptar-Axtlan out of me. Otherwise, we’re all fucked.” 

Asahi gives a small, upset sound. Suga inwardly mirrors it. He hadn’t signed up for this. 

 

\--

 

Daichi stuffs his fist into his mouth when Suga’s back is turned. This is a test of his patience. And self-control. And   _everything_  . Alright, he’d known about the military thing for a little while, ever since Suga had teased him about field dressings, but good god. It’s not like the fatigues are fitted or anything, but seeing Sugawara Koushi walk around in a (tight) t-shirt and ABU pants… Daichi is a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.

Or rather, he deserves this  _so much._  

Suga bends over to scoop up the jackalope. Right in front of Daichi. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose. Should such practically-made pants be so flattering on someone’s ass? Daichi prays to every god who hasn’t tried to kill him lately that he can one day talk Suga into wearing that to bed. Not for very long, of course, but god, ABUs plus a binding charm around the wrists—

“Can you  _please stop_ ,” Hajime asks loudly, red in the face. 

“…How long have you been listening,” Daichi asks in return. 

“I think  _I_   heard what you were thinking,” Oikawa points out, one hand coyly covering his mouth. “And that’s not really pertinent to what we’re trying to do right now, is it?” 

Suga beams at them, the simultaneous picture of innocence and absolute sin. 

 

\--

 

Suga keeps glancing over at Daichi every few seconds, despite how he should be keeping his eyes on the road. Daichi doesn't meet those glances. He doesn't want to think about the sword in the backseat, either. 

Finally, the silence is too much, and Suga sucks in a breath to speak. 

"It better not be a come-on," Daichi nearly growls.

Suga closes his mouth again. 

"Seriously?" Daichi asks, rolling his eyes, and Suga snickers. "You should be more like 'ohh no, what was that giant goddamned lizard-man-beaver-thing?' Or, better yet, 'are you okay'. That'd be great." 

"I know you're okay," Suga says softly. He lets go of the wheel with one hand and pats Daichi's knee. His hand lingers a little too long on the skirt. "I saved you, and then your trigger-happy shotgun friend finished the rest. Do you want to talk about it?  _Are_ you okay?" Suga's confidence evaporated with the last sentence, and now there's only worry in those big, brown eyes. 

Daichi regrets saying anything. He puts his hand over Suga's and hopes his face doesn't look as red as it feels. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just. Uh. You still take this all in stride better than I'd thought," he admits.

"Oh, that's because I'm  _incredibly_ distracted by the skirt and makeup. I'll probably save my freak-out for the big creepy crocodile thing for my shower tonight or something. Maybe my nightmares." 

 

\--

 

“Can I kiss you?” Tetsurou asks, eyes on Kenma’s mouth. The demon balks, withdrawing again, hair shielding his face. Tetsurou curses himself. 

“Why don’t you just order me to,” Kenma mumbles, unfairly and cruelly.

Tetsurou goes from cursing to hating himself. He steps back from Kenma, giving him his space, and wants to crawl into the ground. “That’s. God,  _no_ . I would never do that to you - to anyone.”

“…It was still a question,” Kenma says softly. 

“I want  _you_  to want to kiss me, too,” Tetsurou replies under his breath. He sinks down onto the bed and runs his hands back through his hair. Well, that was a fuck-up. Then again, everything about wanting to kiss the  _demon contracted to you_  was a fuck-up, so maybe that’s on par for the course. “Nevermind. It was stupid.” 

“Yeah,” Kenma agrees. And demons can’t lie. Ouch. 

How much more shall his ego suffer today?

Kenma leans over and presses a quick kiss against his cheek. 

 

\--

 

"You broke him," Oikawa laments, a hand placed dramatically to his forehead. 

" _Yo no estoy roto, idiota_ ," Hajime replies with a scowl. Mattsun's grin widens further. 

"I can't believe my boyfriend is broken." 

Hajime balks—had he really forgotten his boyfriend?! Wait, why is he dating a dragon—and Makki clasps his hands together with absolute glee. "This is better than a soap opera. You're breaking your poor  _boyfriend's_ heart, Iwa, and now—separated by a language barrier! How will they overcome these— _ack_." He cuts off when Hajime elbows him in the stomach. "Ow. Wow. Rude." 

 "So rude," Mattsun agrees, arms folded across his chest. 

"What's even ruder is my darling, broken boyfriend not telling me he had  _another_ shapeshifter friend," Oikawa pouts. The levity in his voice tells Hajime that he's mostly joking about the relationship. Which is good, since he's still stuck on the  _dragon_ thing. (And the fact that half the time, all Oikawa is broadcasting mentally is static. Hajime  _knows_ he's smarter than he looks, and he knows that he's not the best at blocking others out yet.) 

"Almost as rude as him forgetting me entirely," Mattsun says and nods. 

"How could he forget such a cute puppy," Makki adds with yet another smirk. 

Hajime begins to question why he has certain people as his friends. 

 

\--

 

Yui sinks to her knees when the angel settles form inside the binding circle. Tetsurou swipes his hair out of his eyes, expression uncharacteristically closed-off, and Kei swallows nervously. This is out of his pay grade. He'd much rather focus on getting Lev out before he gets sacrificed, because Kei is not on board for Apocalypse Right Fucking Now. 

"K-Kiyoko," Yui chokes out. 

" _Shit_ ," Tetsurou hisses under his breath. He curses again when he spots the other witch get back to his feet, despite the blood pouring out of his nose. Kei wonders just how study that man  _is_. Tendou. Yui knew who he was, so he assumes the man has some sort of reputation outside of being stupid and/or evil to try to summon a Great Old One. "Tsukki, any chance you're feeling lucky enough to want to help me with this angel problem before either of the other two start shit?" 

"Hardly," Kei replies with a frown. He glances down at the unconscious Daichi and the long-haired silver cat crouched near him. "Are angels high or low spirits?" 

"Low, of course." 

So they have one of each. Perfect. Let the witches battle it out with each other and the beautiful angel woman; Kei is going to try to drag the wounded out and  _not_ risk his life further today. He's earned his good karma already. Now, he just wants to get back to Tadashi and ignore eldritch beings and terrifying angels for the rest of the night. 


	15. kuroken: the christmas one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kenma and Kuroo's _second_ Christmas together. (First and a half.)

“What’s this?” Kenma asks, coming to a halt in the doorway. Kuro looks up at him from where he’s seated on the floor, tinsel and wrapping paper and pine needles strewn about him. It makes him look like an overgrown cat. Speaking of. “Where’s the cat?” 

“I dunno,” Kuro replies and goes back to trying to tape down the wrapping paper on something vaguely box-like. 

“What is this?” Kenma repeats firmly. 

Kuro wrinkles his nose. A pile of silver and green tinsel near his foot wiggles and a tail pokes out. “Christmas stuff, isn’t it? Last year, we were busy with all of that other stuff—and, y’know, you never  _told_  me that this was a thing. But this year, I’d like to do it.” 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t that what people who care about each other do?” Thank god he avoided more troublesome ways of phrasing that. “Spend holidays together? Decorate apartments together? That’s what Sugawara and Sawamura did.” 

“I guess,” Kenma replies tersely. He doesn’t really like thinking about holidays, and even cute domestic stuff like this can still put him on edge if it catches him by surprise. That’s not Kuro’s fault, however. He eyes the stack of wrapped presents beside Kuro. “How much of that is for me?” He’s never one to say no to getting spoiled, but most of those are too big to be games. 

(And he shudders to think what Kuro and Bokuto could buy as gifts when left to their own devices. Kenma is  _fine_  never again explaining to Akaashi what certain sex toys were.) 

“These are all for the cat,” Kuro replies with a cheeky smile.

Kenma misses when he was unable to lie to him. But two can play at this game. He pouts, careful not to overdo it, but makes sure to get the right amount of lower lip trembling. “I’ve never had many presents to unwrap during the holidays, Kuro.” 

To Kenma’s great surprise-slash-dismay, Kuro turns to him with a gasp and a bright expression. This backfired. Before Kenma can backpedal or flee, Kuro drops down into his own shadow and pops up out of Kenma’s, scooping him up in the process, rubbing his cheek against Kenma’s hair. “I wish I could wrap that - that’s  _great_ , Kenma! I’ve never heard you joke about things like that before.” Things Like That being Kenma’s pre-Kuro days. Or maybe pre-Lev days. Kuro has an odd sense of Kenma’s life. Kuro pauses in rubbing against Kenma’s head, chin digging into his scalp, and muses aloud, “You don’t joke enough in general. That’s what  _I_  want for Christmas.” 

“Who says you get anything?” Kenma asks sourly, face flaming, toes still dangling over the carpet. 

“Who says I don’t?” 

“Santa’s not real, you know. I wouldn’t try to alienate your main gift-giver three weeks before Christmas,” Kenma points out. 

“What’s a Santa?” Kuro asks cluelessly. 


	16. levken: the booze one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: levken i GUESS  
> rating: t because apparently i can't stop swearing for 2 seconds (it's rated g in spirit)  
> summary: Kenma takes a cooking lesson from Lev.

“First, you have to take another shot,” Lev says, holding up the vodka with a beam. Kenma gives him a flat look as an answer. “That’s how you cook Russian things! You wanted to learn, Kenma.”

“No, I wanted to learn how to make  _okrashka_. Not drink shitty vodka with you.” Which he’d already  _done_. Kenma can still taste the burn in the back of his throat.

Lev gasps in dismay. “How dare you! Aunt Masha brought this with her from her last trip—”

“I just want to cook,” Kenma says with enough of a pout that Lev lets the matter drop. (After taking another swig, straight from the bottle, himself. In true Russian spirit, Lev can drink like a fish. Kenma cannot.)

“Fine, fine,” Lev says (again) as he stows the vodka. Kenma’s nose wrinkles when he pulls out the  _kvass_  instead.

“I don’t think you should be drinking that one.” Isn’t it cooking alcohol? Or is it the other way around—should they be  _cooking_  with that? This is why Kenma didn’t like socializing with Lev at first. He’s leery of Russian drinking.

“It’s an ingredient, I swear,” Lev says and sets it next to the pile of vegetables. Vegetables that Kenma trusts. He knows what a turnip is, anyway, even if he doesn’t really cook them often. …Or cook anything often. Kenma scoots his stool closer to the counter and watches with big eyes as Lev begins to  _actually_  instruct him.

He’s an overeager, overenthusiastic teacher, but at least he’s getting his point across. Sort of. It’s easier for Kenma to simply watch what he’s doing rather than listen, but his excited talking—growing progressively more and more Russian—is a pleasant sort of white noise. His large hands, with those long fingers, are strangely hypnotic as he gestures and handles things with a surprising amount of care. 

Kenma helps by chopping vegetables and stirring things, but Lev doesn’t allow him to do much else. He pauses every so often, when he can, to scribble bits of the recipe down on a piece of lined paper torn from one of Kenma’s notebooks.

Kenma watches as the bottle’s contents slowly vanish over the course of the cooking. Kenma steals bits of food when he can, and otherwise just tries to pay attention. He likes this soup, and he’s the one who asked Lev to teach him this, so the least he could do is actually benefit from Cooking Lev: Окрошка edition. Or is it квас edition by now…?

Longer than it probably should have taken, the soup is finally ready, and Kenma’s stomach is growling. As far as he can tell, everything went well, although Lev never actually  _put the goddamned booze in_. Figures that he was just playing up the Russian thing to tease him. (Okay, he’d dumped in a splash at the beginning, but nothing what he was hyping it up to be.)

“Now it needs to refrigerate for two hours,” Lev announces. Kenma pouts at him, unaware that this was part of the recipe. “Aw, don’t give me that face, котёнок. It has to be cold!” He then dumps a  _generous_  amount of  _kvass_  into the bowl, not even bothering to measure it. Kenma begins to regret this decision. Hadn’t Lev said that normally his aunt makes this instead…?

But he’ll give Lev the benefit of the doubt. He’s not  _that_  rude. …Alright, he is, but he’s significantly more polite when there is food to be had.

Lev lets Kenma commandeer his Wii U and they end up playing  _Splatoon_  for most of the time. Kenma almost forgets that he’s hungry. But he’s the first one at the fridge to pull it out when Lev says it’s time, making Lev laugh.

Kenma makes another _ick_  face when Lev dumps even more  _kvass_  in. He’s got to be fucking with him. He empties the bottle and  _pulls out another_  to finish dumping more in. It’s absolutely got to be a joke. “Перестань смотреть на меня так,” Lev says reproachfully as he mixes the obscene amount of booze into what had been their dinner. This is definitely Cooking Lev: квас edition and Kenma could not be more disappointed.

“Why’d you ruin it?” Kenma asks with a sulk. “You could have just drank all of it if you wanted.”

Lev makes a small noise.

“Did you just…  _tsk_  at me?”

“You need to learn to trust me!” Lev says. He pushes the large bowl over to Kenma and hands him the mixing spoon. “Попробуй немного!”

Kenma doesn’t really  _want_  to try it, but Lev’s chiding joke about trusting him stings more than he wants to admit, so he dips the spoon into the mixture anyway. It doesn’t _look_  terrible. And when he tries it, it actually tastes normal. Exactly how he remembers it. He’s not sure how a soup that’s apparently ninety-nine percent booze can taste this good, but he eagerly slurps at it until Lev laughingly takes the mixing spoon away from him and hands him a regular one.

Later, when Lev has convinced Kenma to return to the couch with an actual bowl instead of the entire batch and they’re (for major want of a better term) cuddling while booting up netflix, Kenma murmurs a shy, “Thank you.”

“Не проблема, котёнок,” Lev replies with another alcohol-tinged giggle.

Kenma wouldn’t mind another cooking lesson with him. But he’s going to make sure to magically lock all of the alcohol away first.


	17. daisuga: the sunset one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: g  
> summary: Suga (and Daichi) pet-sit Saeko's dogs.

“Hey,” Daichi says softly as he sits down by Suga. Suga makes a noise in acknowledgement, eyes otherwise out over the park. His feet dangle over the edge of the building, kicking every so often. One of Saeko’s dogs, Princess, sits beside him, looking more attentive than Suga does. “How’s pet-sitting, day two?” Daichi asks and eyes the dog. Princess doesn’t even glance in his direction.

“Sunny still hasn’t forgiven me,” Suga replies and shrugs. He loops his arms over the railing and kicks his feet again. “But it’s only for another day. And Princess is such a sweetie, anyway, I can’t see why he complains—aren’t you, girl? Yes you are!”

Daichi doesn’t understand why Suga _insists_ on using baby talk for a fully grown doberman, especially one who doesn’t even do the normal excited dog thing at said baby talk.

Suga scratches Princess behind the ears, and that, at least, she seems to like. The dog leans into his touch with a single wag of her stumpy tail.

“So why do you have to do this every night?”

“Saeko and Princess always watch the sunset together.”

“And I have to watch the sunrise with Queenie,” Daichi sighs. Suga nods and Princess snorts, as if laughing at him. Suga, if left to his own devices, would probably just stay up the entire night rather than try to wake at dawn for the other dog (one who acts far more like a dog than this stoic, well, princess). “Saeko has weird habits.”

“It’s a guard thing,” Suga says, not for the first time. He peers over at Daichi and Princess leans around him to match the look. “And don’t pretend like you don’t sing to Dinah when you feed her. You do plenty of weird pet things, too.”

“At least mine doesn’t bring me ghost rats,” Daichi points out.

“You should _see_ what Princess and Queenie have gotten up to with Saeko before. This one time—”

“Don’t wanna know,” Daichi interrupts. He moves over, behind Suga with one leg on either side, tugging him back against his chest and away from the railing. The cold concrete is starting to make his ass go numb, but Suga is a warm (ish), solid weight against him and that’s what Daichi focuses on. “After you’re done playing guard dog, do I get you for dinner?”

Princess looks over sharply at the word ‘dinner’. Suga laughs, making Daichi feel significantly better about his whole Staring Contemplatively Out At A Sunset While On The Edge Of A Building thing. “After I feed them, and then Sunny, sure. Did you already say hi to Queenie?”

“Of course I did. _Someone’s_ gotta spoil her, too.”

“I do not spoil Princess.”

“Then why am I the one who always takes Queenie out?” Daichi teases.

“Because you’re the one who makes the mistake of getting up at the wrong part of the night.”

“Dawn means it’s morning, Suga.”

“Dawn means it’s time to go to bed,” Suga replies, and Princess huffs in agreement. Who knows what sort of convoluted sleep schedule Saeko and her dogs have, since it doesn’t seem to match Daichi’s _or_ Suga’s. Suga wiggles an arm out from Daichi’s embrace to scratch the dog again, and Princess ends up flopping against them, jealous of the attention she isn’t getting. It isn’t long before she tries to climb onto Suga’s lap, too, which has him laughing again and trying to scoot back against Daichi to accommodate her.

Daichi leans his cheek against the back of Suga’s neck. Not that Suga is a furnace, but he’s a warm spot against the chilly evening, and he smells like an endearing mixture of dog and soot. ...Which _shouldn’t_ be endearing. “Why do you smell like a fire?” Daichi asks in a low voice.

“Fire magic isn’t _my_ thing,” Suga mumbles. Which means Tadashi and that cat fire of his.

“You didn’t tell me you went out on a job today.”

“It wasn’t a job, it was practice.”

“Did you get set on fire?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Suga hedges, and Daichi raises his head with a concerned frown. “It was only a bush, it missed the gnome.”

Daichi sighs, long and hard, against the back of Suga’s neck. He then kisses the skin there above the collar of his jacket, as if in apology. “You and Yamaguchi need to stop getting into so much trouble together.”

“Our trouble keeps others out of trouble.”

“Duly noted. But I worry.”

“...I know you do,” Suga says quietly, and they’re dunked back into serious, solemn time. Daichi tightens his arms a little around Suga’s waist. They sit together like that until the sun completely sets. 

 


	18. daichi: the locked out one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: none but it has the tiniest faintest nod to asanoya i guess  
> rating: t for salty language and illegal airmen  
> summary: The last time Chikara visited Daichi.

Daichi squints at his wallet. Everything’s still fuzzy or blurry or just hard to fucking see. But from what he  _can_  see, he can tell that he’s missing something. There’s his driver’s license, with its bad photo when his hair was too long, and then there’s a loyalty card to some local ramen joint, and then there’s… a gap. A space?

“Tanaka,” Daichi says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he can hear enough of himself to know that the last syllable got a little slurred. “ _Tanaka_!” he barks, again, drawing Ryuu’s attention. “Need your ID.”

“ _Quais_ ,” Ryuunosuke replies blankly. Even that single syllable is enough to drive Chikara into wild giggles again. Daichi finds himself grinning without knowing why. Maybe it’s infectious, or maybe it’s just goddamned hilarious to see Chikara breathless with honest to god  _giggles_.

Yuu finds that just as hilarious as Daichi does and breaks into loud, grating peals of laughter.

Then Daichi remembers they’re  _locked out of the base_  and things aren’t funny anymore. He doesn’t have his military ID, and Ryuu probably doesn’t, either, and Yuu and Chikara aren’t military. He doesn’t really know many other people who are a) up at this hour, b) not jackasses and who would come get them. They shouldn’t have even been drinking. And definitely not this much. Daichi’s mood plummets further when Yuu takes a long pull from the bottle of vodka he’d gotten from… somewhere? Has he been carrying that all this time?

Ryuunosuke holds his hand out and Yuu wordlessly passes it to him. Yeah, he can’t rely on Ryuu. So they’re stuck outside the base. Daichi can’t remember who’s gate guard tonight, but his record is  _impeccable_ and he’ll be damned if he lets one dumb night ruin it. They can’t count on begging their way in. …Maybe as a last resort.

“Le’ss hop the fence!” Yuu declares and points with both hands at the tall, topped-with-barbed-wire fence about twenty feet in front of them.

“Let’s not and say we did,” Chikara replies. Daichi nods, then stops nodding because it makes his vision swim. Ugh, he’s going to feel like shit tomorrow.

Calling someone for a ride doesn’t work if they still can’t get _on_  base. They’d have to crash somewhere else, and Daichi doesn’t have friends in this area. They just have to get on base. Not over the fence, not through the main gate, not from someone letting them in. They’re going to have to get in on their own.

In Daichi’s drunken state, he decides that the best course of action is to break onto base, naturally.

“We need. This way!” Even drunk off his ass, Daichi is proud of his commanding aura, and it’s not long before the other three are staggering after him. Chikara might have rolled his eyes. Ryuu is definitely singing softly under his breath, and it’s not in any language Daichi can identify. The vodka has passed back to Yuu, and thankfully, it looks like it’s almost empty.

Trekking several miles while hammered in the middle of the night through ditches, fields, and dirt roads is an  _adventure_. It’s not until the side gate is in view that Daichi remembers they had phones they could’ve been using as flashlights, but the moon is pretty, and their eyes are adjusted, and he feels so wild and capable. He should be trying to wrestle a raccoon or something. He is the master of the night. (He finishes what’s left of Yuu’s vodka when the second gate comes into sight to celebrate.)

_This_  gate is smaller and isn’t manned 24/7. It has an automatic card reader, however, which wouldn’t help them normally. But tonight, Daichi has A Plan, and the plan is certainly not to sleep in a wheat field with Ryuunosuke. (Again. It wouldn’t even be the second time.)

“Now what?” Chikara asks. He flops down onto the gravel, looking sleepier than ever, and sways a little bit when he tilts his head back to look up at Daichi. “We’re still locked out. I want to sleep in a  _bed_ , Daichi.”

“ _Nós não estamos indo para dormir! Vamos beber mais!_ ” Ryuu exclaims indignantly.

Chikara stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Daichi, not for the first time, wonders where the fuck Ryuunosuke had picked up the Portuguese. “I’m never drinking with you guys again. I didn’t want to be locked out,” Chikara mumbles. He flops down onto the ground and it’s not long before Yuu is crouched beside him, texting furiously. Chikara scoots over with a crunch of gravel to put his head on Yuu’s lap. “Are you texting help? I want help.”

“I got this!” Daichi tells him stubbornly. Chikara is  _his guest_  and he’s not going to let his guest sleep in a wheat field. Daichi leaves them sitting in the middle of the road and hops back down into the ditch. The grass is high, uncut for some time, but it can’t hide everything, even with as drunk as he is. He nearly trips over what he’s trying to find, but he soon finds it: a leftover piece of half-rusted piping from when they redid the fences out here last year.

“Is the plan tet’nus?” Yuu asks, eyes wide and reflecting the light from his phone like some sort of demented deer.

“Are you texting your boyfriend? You never tell me about him,” Chikara mumbles against Yuu’s thigh.

“I don’t want tet’nus,” Yuu adds. Chikara nods tiredly.

“Get  _down_  from there,” Daichi says to Ryuunosuke, who’s trying to scale the barbed wire fence, and prods him with his rusty metal stick for good measure. Ryuunosuke falls off with a squawk.

“Text your boyfriend more. Tell him to come pick us up.”

“I’m getting us back home,” Daichi insists. Chikara and Yuu give him matching deadpan stares. Ryuunosuke, however, bounds up and throws an arm around Daichi’s shoulder. They both puff out their chests. “Hoo-ah and all that. I  _said_  we’re getting back home, and we are. Lemme show you how the 28th does shit.”

“Aren’t you an engineer?” Yuu asks suspiciously.

“And who do you  _think_  knows how these things work?” Daichi snorts. He approaches the gate and sees the half-covered metal plate on the far side. Headed onto the base, the gate wouldn’t open without inserting your ID, but going  _off_ , it’s just a sensor for any approaching vehicle.

Except the sensor isn’t tripped by weight.

It takes a few tries, but Daichi gets the metal pole through, and tosses it against the plate. It clatters and skates halfway across, but stays on, and gate rolls open with a beep. Daichi hastily pulls his arm free before he’s dragged off the road, and quickly puts his hands on his hips with a triumphant pose. “Engineers, represent!”

Yuu and Chikara are too busy staring and politely applauding to get through the gate before it rolls closed again, so they have to repeat the trick. But it’s worth it, and Daichi manages not to lose face with any superiors in favor of… breaking onto a military base. Daichi suddenly wishes he had more vodka.

“Please don’t remember how that works when you’re sober,” Daichi tells Ryuunosuke, who gives him a wicked grin.

“Neither of you look too proud of yourselves. It’s a couple miles back to the dorms, isn’t it?” Chikara asks. Daichi droops. He’s tired and his feet hurt and Chikara’s right because he’s an asshole.

“Race you there!” Yuu shouts and bolts into the dark night without further warning. Ryuu tears after him with something in slurred Portuguese.

“They’re going to get lost,” Chikara remarks. He makes no move to stop either of them.

“They’re going to fall into the lake.”

Sure enough, the telling far-off screech and splash come floating back to them soon enough. Daichi jogs after them to make sure neither of them drown, but thankfully, they’re both on the bank by the time he gets there. Ryuu is dripping wet and Yuu is laughing weakly, but they’re fine, so Daichi doesn’t yell at them. Chikara stumbles up after him and doesn’t look at the pair on the shore so much as some point just to the right of some of the cattails.

“Has anyone ever drowned in this lake?” he asks curiously.

Not the ghost shit again. “I dunno, maybe? There’s always dumb airmen,” Daichi says and shrugs. Case in point: them.

“Is there some dead kid?!” Yuu asks eagerly and bounces up to his feet. Chikara nods. “I’m so jealous, Chika! I wanna get drunk with dead people!”

“Shouldn’t we be headed back?” Daichi asks with a shooing motion. “Tanaka, up. Let’s get going before you pass out somewhere.”

“Oh, he’s  _fine_. Let him sleep it off,” Yuu replies dismissively. “More importantly, tell me more about the dead kid!”

“Not drunk enough for this,” Daichi growls. He grabs Yuu by the hood and Ryuu by an arm and force-marches them away from the lake. Chikara waves to the invisible point by the cattails and trails after them.

Daichi isn’t quite sure how much time passes before they make it toward more civilized parts of the base. They flag down a car and miracle of miracles, the driver doesn’t immediately rat them out for coming back drunk as skunks. (Well, that’s officially-unofficially the rules: making people get home safe is the priority, tattling on them is secondary. Most people don’t follow that.) Daichi remembers shoving bills at them when they pile into the small car, and he  _knows_  it’s not a taxi, but he’s being polite, right. Polite and apologetic for the way Ryuunosuke is inevitably going to throw up in the vehicle. 

The drive back to the dorms takes about twenty minutes. Daichi wonders just how far out they were, because he doesn’t remember that side gate being that far, but then again, traveling on foot, while drunk, in the dark… 

Plot twist of the night: it’s not Ryuu but Chikara who gets sick in the car. Except he, polite as he is, manages to throw up out a window. 

They stumble as quietly as possible back into the dorms. Daichi has the uncomfortable feeling that Yuu and Ryuunosuke are just going to drink more, but he’s starting to crash and doesn’t want tomorrow to be even worse, so he drags Chikara back to his room and kicks the other two out. They can do what they like. 

“There’s a ghost mouse on your ceiling,” Chikara tells him with a wide, warm smile. 

Daichi thinks long and hard about kicking him out, too. “No there’s not.” 

“It’s like you have a pet, Daichi. I’m glad you’re not alone in here.” 

“I’m  _not_. I have Tanaka.” 

“He’s a funny pet.” 

“Alright,” Daichi says and pushes Chikara down on the bed, “I think you need to sleep now. I got you home in one piece, so now it’s your job to take advantage of my hospitality and go the fuck to sleep.” 

“Mm,” Chikara says around a yawn. He kicks off his shoes, pulls off one sock, and tugs his sweatshirt over his head. “G’night, Daichi.” And he’s out like a light. Sprawled across most of Daichi’s bed. 

Daichi is sober enough to be annoyed by this, but still inebriated enough to insist to himself that he is  _not_  taking the floor. He shoves Chikara over to one side, grabs his pillow, and ends up at the foot of the bed. He’s going to pay for this in the morning. 


	19. yamatsukki: the birthday one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kei wants to sleep. Tadashi wants to celebrate.

“Tsukki. Tsuuuuukki—" 

Kei blearily cracks open an eye, finding Tadashi kneeling beside the bed so they’re roughly eye-level. His freckled roommate gives him an annoyingly endearing smile as an apology for poking him awake. “What,” Kei grinds out. 

“How sentimental are you feeling?” Tadashi asks in a near-whisper. 

_What_. “Not very, considering you just woke me up.” He glances at the clock on the nightstand; it’s just past midnight, so not terribly late, but what’s a sleep schedule, anyway? He’s not sure he’s slept in the past thirty hours. Ah, the perks of being with a perpetual insomniac. 

Who is poking him again. Kei reopens his eyes to glare at him. “Okay, so we’ll skip that one,” Tadashi says and glances down at his phone on his lap. He taps it then tosses it to the carpet as he leans up to set his chin and arms on the bed. “Happy birthday, Tsukki!” 

“I… What?” Tired Kei’s brain moves with the speed of molasses in January, Tadashi ought to know that. “… _What_? How did you know that?” 

“Like Suga’s the only one who can track down information?” Tadashi scoffs. He prods at the blond again until Kei scoots backward in the bed, to the cold side. If this is his birthday—who the fuck knows—then it’s pretty rude to make him move, isn’t it? “It was either today or the day we met, but that’s sort of sappy, isn’t it—?” 

“Yes. Can I go back to sleep now?” Kei doesn’t wait for an answer and rolls over, putting his back to him to prevent more facial poking. And maybe giving him silent permission to spoon him. He deserves a fully-living space heater boyfriend right now after being so rudely woken up. 

“Just let me know what you want for breakfast. You can open your present later.” Tadashi wraps his arms around his waist—Kei wiggles a little to let him sneak an arm underneath him—and rubs his cheek against the top of his shoulder. 

Kei mumbles some sort of vague non-answer as he drifts back off to sleep. 

He wakes up the next morning with little recollection of being woken at midnight, but he sees that it’s just past dawn and Tadashi is  _still_  awake. He knows it’s still because he’s giggling softly at a youtube video on his phone, one leg thrown over one of Kei’s, but otherwise laying separate from him. He only does the sleepy giggly thing when he’s been up for awhile. 

Kei flops onto his stomach, eliciting a winded  _oof_ , as a way to announce he’s awake. Tadashi blinks down at him, dark smudges beneath his eyes and hair a mess from laying in bed, and Kei sort of wants to wiggle his way up to kiss him. He’s still unused to these feelings, though, so he just hums and returns his blink. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” 

“Morning, insomniac.” 

“It’s sort of funny to have our positions reversed,” Tadashi admits with another soft chuckle. “But happy birthday, Tsukki! Are you awake for the day now?” 

Birthday? Kei doesn’t have birthdays anymore. He doesn’t  _want_  to, either, and normally he’d humor Tadashi—but right now, concern winds its way up his spine and Kei frowns. “So it’s my day, hm?” he asks. 

“Yeah, sure! I figured we could have pancakes or something for breakfast?” 

“Then my rule is to go back to bed. I want you to sleep with me, Yamaguchi.” Tadashi’s cheeks pink a little, but Kei yawns widely, showing off just how uninterested he would be in sex right now. God, is he sleeping for the both of them? “I’ll throw sleep soot on you if you don’t humor me.” 

“I might need it,” Tadashi says with a forced grin. “But hey, your day, your rules.” 

Kei instead just rubs luck against Tadashi’s shoulders as he maneuvers them both so he can take a turn as the big spoon. That seems to do the trick, this time, and by the time Kei is making sure his arm is comfortable beneath their pillows, Tadashi’s breathing has evened out. Kei sprinkles a little more luck onto his hair, just in case. The gold flecks contrast rather prettily against the dark locks. 

Kei hopes this doesn’t become their new norm; he wants next year’s birthday to contain considerably more sleep and cake. 


	20. iwaoi: the ice-skating one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: iwaoi  
> rating: pg for a lil swearing  
> summary: Tooru (& Makki & Mattsun) take Iwaizumi out ice-skating for the first time.

“You look bow-legged!” Tooru declares with a gleeful clap. He’s skating  _backwards_ , that ass, while Iwaizumi trails behind him, _feeling_ rather bow-legged. Why did humans invent this? This is a terrible thing. It’d be easier to just try to run across the ice. 

“ _Stop_  laughing!” Iwaizumi says, not for the first time. Tooru skates a large circle around him before coming up on his right, and holds his hand out as an olive branch. 

Iwaizumi takes it, both because he always takes Tooru’s olive branches, and also because he feels as if he needs the support. He doesn’t like ice already, but adding sharp blades and balancing acts doesn’t make anything better. It makes things worse, actually, very much worse. This entire day had been a terrible idea. 

“Just how sharp are these things again?” Iwaizumi asks with a glance down at the rented skates. He's fairly sure he could kill someone with one very, very easily. 

“Oh, relax,” Tooru replies. He swerves around in front of Iwaizumi again and reaches for his other hand. He tugs him along, gently, by both hands and Iwaizumi tries not to wobble. He feels sort of silly for wishing he had a tail for balance right now. 

Issei shoots by, fast and close enough to Tooru to startle him, and the psychic goes down with a yelp. Iwaizumi’s arms windmill before his skates fly out from beneath him and he lands heavily on his ass. Tooru barely ducks away from a skate. 

“You’re going to get someone killed!” Iwaizumi hollers irately. 

“Oh, he’s an ass, but he’s fine,” Tooru says, though he shoots his laughing friend an annoyed look. “Okay, he’s a  _mean_  jackass! I’m trying to be a teacher here!” 

“Ooooh, teacher-student relationship, how scandalous,” Takahiro snarks as he skates by on their other side. He laughs into his glove. 

Iwaizumi may not be magical by nature, but he certainly has enough for a  _push_  spell to trip a slow-moving target from that distance. 


	21. levken: the bet one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied yakulev & kuroken  
> rating: t for salty gaming trashtalking (in russian)  
> summary: Lev is somewhat surprised to hear that Kuro and Bokuto (and Kenma) have a bet about him and Yaku. Kuro is surprised to hear such things come out of Kenma's mouth.

“Don’t you have a bakeneko to be bothering?” Kuro asks with a terrifying smile. 

“No,” Lev replies without looking at him. He wiggles the popsicle in his mouth, trying to eat more of it without taking either hand off the controller, and mostly just ends up with sticky blue stuff running down one corner of his mouth. 

Kenma, chewing on his already-eaten popsicle’s stick, calmly kills Lev’s character in the game. For the eleventh time. Not that Kuro had been counting—

“Another round?” Lev asks. For the eleventh time as well. 

Kuro flops down onto the couch behind them, wedging himself between their backs and the couch cushions, and sighs (dramatically and loudly) against Kenma’s shoulder. “I’m bored! Why is this game only two-player? Why do you suck at it so much, Lev?” 

“I think,” Lev says, scrunching up his nose with his thoughtful frown, “that Yaku is mad at me and made me really unlucky. And—соси хуй!” Lev cuts off with a swear that makes Kuro raise his head to stare at him. 

Kenma doesn’t bat an eye. “У тебя́ о́чень ма́ленький хуй,” he replies as his character finishes its kill animation  _again_. 

Lev makes a sound as if he’d been the one stabbed. “That’s not true! Yaku says that—"

Kuro sits up completely, flopping between them, and can’t keep his smirk off his face. “ _Yaku_  knows how big your dick is? Kenma, I told you they’d fucked! You lose the bet.” 

Kenma’s nose scrunches in displeasure and he flicks his popsicle stick at Kuro without looking at him. Lev leans forward enough to squint at both of them, not paying any mind to Kenma slaughtering his character  _again_  on the screen, and asks, “You two were making bets about me and Yaku?” 

“Kuro and Bokuto were,” Kenma corrects. “I… got dragged in, I guess.” 

“And Bo’s not here, so that means you lose,” Kuro says smugly. 

“Yaku and I haven’t had sex,” Lev says with another cock of his head. “Are we allowed to make bets about your sex life, then? Because actually—" 

“I win the bet,” Kenma cuts in with the barest hint of redness on his cheeks. 

Kuro groans and throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Just tell me when you’re done stomping him into the ground, ‘kay?” 

“We’ll switch games in a moment. I want the achievement,” Kenma responds. Lev nods enthusiastically in agreement. Kuro sighs and slinks off toward the kitchen in hopes of bribing Kenma with food. 

As soon as the demon is gone, Kenma raises his hand. Lev high-fives him with a beam. Kenma doesn’t have to thank him for lying, but he does feel weirdly thankful that Lev managed to salvage that situation so well. Kenma really hadn’t wanted to lose that bet. 

“What were the stakes?” Lev asks and drips more popsicle onto his chin. 

“Dunno. But I win,” Kenma replies firmly. And his character wins in the game yet again, dinging with the notification of the Manslaughter King achievement. 


	22. daichi: the tikbalang one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t for some language, like usual  
> summary: Ryuunosuke and Daichi go on a fetch quest for Suga. It, of course, doesn't go precisely to plan.

Daichi is semi-used to getting into trouble with Tanaka Ryuunosuke. Alright, granted, it’s been a couple years and it usually involves more tequila, but Daichi  _should_  know better. Being holed up in an abandoned mall, frighteningly sober, and  _armed_  isn’t quite what he’s used to. 

Glass crunches under their boots as they sprint toward the broken escalators. Daichi tries not to dwell on the thundering sound of hooves behind them. Ryuu makes it to them first, vaulting cleanly over the Danger sign, and is halfway up before Daichi can awkwardly trip his way over the same sign. It’s so painfully obvious that Ryuu is not only in better shape but more used to sprinting obstacle courses. Although Daichi isn’t sure he  _wants_  to be used to this sort of thing. 

Daichi is a third of the way up the escalator when it groans. The monster behind them reaches the base of it, Daichi is halfway up, and Ryuu leaps for the second floor when the escalator begins to give way with a metallic screech. The monster behind him—so _fucking close_  behind him—doesn’t bail, which means Daichi has to make it to the top before the whole thing collapses. Running full tilt up crooked stairs with a sword in one hand isn’t the easiest thing, and if it wasn’t made of apparently-valuable vorpium Daichi would consider just chucking the damn thing at the monster. 

The escalator begins to slide off of the second floor, buckling in the middle, and Ryuu throws out his arms for Daichi at the top. With little other choice, he shoves the sword back into his dogtags and jumps, just as the escalator gives way. Ryuu catches him and Daichi scrambles up the rebar and concrete until he’s on blessedly solid floor once again. 

“So, how about we don’t tell Suga about that part?” Ryuu asks as they both flop to the ground to catch their breaths. Daichi raises his head just enough to glare at him. “I don’t want him mad at me for almost getting his slow-ass boyfriend killed!” 

“Next time, don’t ask me to hunt down a reverse centaur thing!” 

“Tikbalang,” Ryuu corrects. 

Daichi swats him with his dogtags. 

The twisted pile of metal beneath them gives one last screech before settling. The two men cautiously peek over the edge (Daichi jumping when a little of the concrete cracks beneath him) to find a single horse leg sticking up from the wreckage, twitching. 

Ryuu shoots it in the haunch for good measure. It doesn’t move. He grins and poses with his crossbow like he’s some goddamned hero of the hour and Daichi smacks him again. 

After getting what they came for—some sort of special magical jar of supernatural water that no one can convince Daichi  _needed_  to be guarded by a fucking reverse centaur—they limp back home to lick their wounds and present Suga with the clay jar. He beams at them and Daichi inwardly sighs because he’d fight a thousand fucking reverse centaurs for that smile. It’s unfair. 

“How did it go?” Suga asks while he wraps the jar in some sort of magic protection. 

“Fine!” Ryuu says, too quickly. 

Suga glances up at him, not suspicious yet but not put at ease, so Daichi saves Ryuu’s ass and says, “It was fine, Koushi. Tanaka showed off with his crossbow, we made jokes about an army surplus store, and we got you your water.” 

Suga’s cheeks pink, just a little, at the use of his first name. Like they always do; he’s not the only one who can distract his boyfriend with a well-timed word or two. Ryuu shoots Daichi a grateful look once Suga’s back is to them. Daichi smiles in return, maybe a little scarily, but it hadn’t been  _that_  bad. Mostly. At least no one had had to wear a skirt. 


	23. ensemble: the halloween one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairings: kiyoyui, kuroken, yamatsukki  
> rating: t for tswearing  
> summary: Halloween isn't always just about the _Danse_.

**the ghost of halloween past**

 

“Hold  _still_!” Suga cries and wobbles on the broom. He wraps his arm around Yui’s shoulders and they both wiggle a little, fighting for balance, before they even out. Kiyoko sighs from her own broom. 

“Why couldn’t we just buy some?” Kiyoko asks. For the nth time tonight. 

“I’m not risking it! I want this to go perfectly!” Yui declares and the broom wobbles again beneath her feet. Both she and Suga are standing on the handle, balancing as best they can (which is not very well), and Suga is far taller so he  _should_  be the one reaching up to get the bats, but  _nooo_ , Yui had to  _help_ , which means they’re both going to fall and break their faces—

The bats overhead blink and squeak at them, not afraid, but not friendly, either. Suga hopes they’re not going to bite. 

“It’s an old myth,” Kiyoko says as the broom wobbles again. Suga shrieks and clutches at Yui like a lifeline, tugging her off balance, and they do an accidental barrel-roll on the broom. 

When they pop back upright, Yui is laughing, high and nervous, and Suga is whiter than a sheet. 

“I-I’d feel a lot better about this if I had a-a flight potion, or some sort of spell,” Suga wheezes. 

“We can’t use magic!” Yui scolds. She gently detaches Suga’s arms and stands on the broom again, then twists to tug him up to his feet as well. The broom inches higher and they both reach up for the bats beneath the eaves. There’s a good few dozen of them, chittering and antsy at being interrupted before they can go back to bed, and Suga is privately very glad they’re at least doing this at the church. He can’t imagine doing this in a cave or under some old bridge. 

Kiyoko circles beneath them, chewing on her nail and glancing around uneasily. They’re not too close to the  _Danse_ , but it’s never the wisest decision for normal magical people to be out tonight. 

But Yui wants a lucky bat for some sort of Samhain charm she  _swears_  exists, and neither Suga nor Kiyoko are very good at saying no to Yui. 

“Why can’t we just go home and meditate…?” Kiyoko asks as her girlfriend swipes at some bats overhead. 

“Is that a euphemism?” Suga asks and looks down at her. Kiyoko makes a face at him, unimpressed and unamused. 

Beside him, Yui hops up again. The broom, no longer in contact with its witch, drops in the air just as she manages to swipe a bat and its baby from the eaves. Suga yelps as he falls, although Yui plops down beside him a moment later, halting their descent abruptly. 

The brunette, holding the bats tight but carefully, holds up her prizes with a grin so bright it ought to be illegal. 

“I’m not cleaning up after them,” Suga tells her. 

“It’s only a couple days,” Yui answers. “And no magic near them! And let’s not let Sunny eat them, either.” 

Kiyoko sighs under her breath and it sounds suspiciously like “ _finally”_. “Let’s get home before the sun comes up. Being out tonight is worrying.” 

“Oh, what’s the worst that could happen? Spooky ghosts trying to hit on my beautiful girlfriend, oh no,” Yui says with a ghostly coo. Suga snickers into his hand, then wiggles his fingers as they float closer. They both make  _boo_  sounds, and Kiyoko is trying not to laugh at them. 

She actually  _does_  laugh at them when Yui drops the bats and they return to the eaves with an affronted squeak. 

 

\--

 

**the ghost of halloween present**

 

“Kuro, in my shadow,” Kenma says, voice low and urgent, and Kuro sinks into the black puddle beneath his boots without question. “ _Stay_  in my shadow. No matter what happens—” 

Kuro regrets not asking, because the next moment, someone leaps down from above and lands in front of them with a  _thump_. And the person socks Kenma in the face. Kuro doesn’t even feel shock, doesn’t feel the pain—he immediately fights against the command, rage burning through his body like fire, and rises back up out of the shadow. But Kenma staggers backward, and manages to step on Kuro before he can get up. 

“ _Down_ ,” Kenma hisses through clenched teeth. 

To the interloper, he just raises his head and gives them a wary look. Kuro wriggles in Kenma’s shadow, writhing in his anger, but if he’s noticed, the person opposite them doesn’t let it show. It looks human, probably female. Tall, bulky, dressed in a mismatched set of winter gear that hides what she may be carrying, past the long, glinting switchblade in her right hand. 

“Witchbreed,” the woman hisses, teeth bared like a feral animal. 

“What?” Kenma replies and he sounds perfectly clueless. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you are, what you  _smell_  like. On your way to the  _Danse_ , are ya? Going to snatch up more souls to stir into your cauldron?” 

“Um, that’s not really… how witches work…” Kenma backs up further and glances back behind him. Kuro tries to rise again, but he’s stepped on again, and when Kenma sends an irritated look down at him, the woman lunges at them. 

Kenma reels back to avoid the switchblade, but he doesn’t dodge her other hand, and she grabs a fistful of his hair. Kuro feels alarm spike through him just as her knee comes up into Kenma’s stomach. Kuro is about to come up, order be damned, and kill this asshole, but she laces her hands together and brings them down on the back of Kenma’s neck. 

The witch goes down like a sack of potatoes. Kuro’s limited vision blurs and darkens, and all of the anger and concern bleed away in favor of muted surprise. 

Kuro doesn’t quite black out, but all he’s aware of is Kenma’s weight on him, and how  _quiet_  it is. The next thing he knows, Kenma stirs, and Kuro looks away from him to find Kenma tied to the railing of a set of iron stairs. Kuro winds his way up Kenma’s leg, hiding in the folds of his jeans, until he can reach up with tiny tendrils to the red oozing out of Kenma’s mouth. He doesn’t remember Kenma getting hit again. 

Kenma blinks slowly, golden eyes hazy, and Kuro’s heart clenches. 

“Woke up again, witchbreed?” 

Kenma looks up and his expression hardens. The woman stands before him, switchblade gone, but a heavy, silver wrench in her hand instead. She smacks it against her palm and Kuro feels his not-skin crawl. “What do you want?” Kenma calmly asks. 

“Witchbreed blood on the full moon is supposed to make you better, right?” 

“Um, that’s not true—” 

“I just need some of your blood then, right?” the woman says and smacks the wrench against her hand again. 

Kenma’s eyes slide downward and he lets out a slow, relieved exhale. “So you’re not… Okay, Kuro, you can come out now.” 

The woman doesn’t know what hit her. 

Kuro kneels in front of where Kenma is bound and cups his cheeks in his claws. “Kenma, what was that?” Kuro asks, gently, because the entire situation still feels like glass. Kenma’s still bleeding, just a little, and even with the woman’s blood cooling on his claws, Kuro doesn’t feel like he’s  _safe_  yet. 

“Oh, there’s an old… I don’t know, legend. Witch blood on a full moon heals you, I guess?” Kenma doesn’t meet his eye, but Kuro can read the guilt on his face anyway. “Sorry, I thought she might have tried to kill you.” 

“Kenma, she tried to kill  _you_.” 

“No, probably just bleed me a little,” he mumbles. He tugs on the rags around his wrists, and Kuro snakes out another tendril to untie him, not willing to release Kenma otherwise. He catches Kenma as he sags, freed, and Kenma rubs at his wrists while still avoiding eye contact. 

“…Kenma, has this happened before?” Kuro asks. 

“Witches aren’t popular,” Kenma says instead of directly answering. “But I’m glad it wasn’t someone after you.” 

Kuro pulls him forward into an embrace and hardly lets him go for the rest of the night. 

 

\--

 

**the ghost of halloween future**

 

“Ohh no. Ohhhhhh no,” Tadashi repeats in a moan, pulling at his hair like the stinging will ground him. Kei snickers beside him, but it’s without humor. 

Inuoka Sou bounds across the parking lot in front of them, chasing snowflakes swirling through the air. His  _tail_  wags when he stops in front of them. 

“C-Can we change him back?” Tadashi asks in a wrecked whisper. Kei detaches Tadashi's hands from his hair and he only ends up chewing on his fingernails instead. 

“I don’t think there’s any way to reverse lycanthropy, Yamaguchi,” Kei drawls. He sounds almost offensively detached from the situation. Like this isn’t Tadashi’s friend and coworker, now in canine form, because of  _him—_ Tadashi hadn’t thought much of the bite at first, brushing it off, because they  _fixed it_ , dosed him full of wolfsbane and salt and pierced his ears with silver. 

The wolf pup in front of them flicks his silver-studded ears and barks happily. 

“At least it’s a full transformation,” Kei remarks. 

“Fuck a full transformation! He’s a  _dog_!” Tadashi exclaims. 

Sou cocks his head to one side and squints at them. 

“Are you going to bite us?” Kei asks. Sou barks, and after their confused, wary looks, takes great effort to crookedly shake his head. He bounds off after more snowflakes after the attempt. “There, see? Harmless.” 

“I  _turned him into a werewolf_ ,” Tadashi whispers through his fingers. 

“He happened to get bitten by what we thought was a hellhound,” Kei says reproachfully. He taps Tadashi on the head, then turns his head around with a finger under his chin. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t take responsibility for an accident, Tadashi, that’s a long, dark road to go down.” 

“But he—” 

“It was an _accident_. Not your fault. And look at how happy he is,” Kei adds, maybe a little sarcastically, but he has a (horrible) point. Sou seems to be having the time of his life, skidding through the powdery snow and snapping at fat, fluffy flakes. 

“…Alright,” Tadashi relents, though his nails have already paid the price for his panic. Kei takes his hands and pulls them away from his mouth, and threads their fingers together while they both approach the wolf. “Um, Sou? Alright, well, it looks like… you’re a werewolf now. C-Congrats…!” 

Sou barks at them, tail wagging again. 

“As far as magical accidents go, you could’ve had a worse one when not being babysat anymore,” Kei tells Tadashi with a wry, smug smirk. Tadashi elbows him in the side and tries to keep up his smile for his coworker. Maybe he _misses_ being babysat. At least shit like this didn't happen on their first Halloween alone. Suga, if he were still here, would kill him. Morisuke is definitely going to kill him. Issei and Yukie are going to kill him. Tadashi's going to participate in the next  _Danse_ himself.

But if Sou himself is alright with it,  _somehow_ , then maybe it won’t be quite so bad…? 

“Alright, uh, well, c’mon back to my place. I know you’re having fun in the snow, but you can still get cold, and we’re going to have a  _lot_  to talk about tonight,” Tadashi says. 

“I thought werewolves were safe on Halloween,” Kei comments as they begin walking (Tadashi heaving a huge sigh when Sou seems content to follow them). 

“Why would they be safe? Nothing’s safe on this stupid night.”


	24. suga: the maid one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( don't fucking look at me; this was inspired by [the meidos](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/post/133544337502) chonpalm drew for me ))
> 
> pairing: daisuga, implied kuroken... kurosuga...  
> rating: m just in case?? probably t  
> summary: Ryuu and Suga only have one chance - tonight - to take out this love spirit before it causes more trouble in the city. Thankfully, it has a kink and Suga's legs look amazing in stockings.

“I’m  _so mad_  you keep getting me to do this,” Suga says, just to say it, because sitting here and taking this is an insult not even he can stomach. 

“Blink for me,” Ryuu replies around the cap in his mouth. Suga obeys, blinking on the mascara brush and helping it even itself out along his lashes. “Dunno why you keep complaining, man—”

“He’s going to think that I do nothing but kinky shit at my job. He’s going to think ‘job’ is a euphemism again,” Suga groans. 

“Stop moving,” Ryuu says and grabs his chin. 

Suga, frowning, lets Ryuunosuke manhandle him as he touches up his mascara, then switches to eyeliner. This is unfair. 

“I’m sorry,” Ryuu says, and at least he sounds halfway sincere. Suga huffs. He doesn’t want to forgive him. “But I don’t have time to drop you off again. We’re only getting one shot at this and—” 

“And it has to be perfect on the first try,” Suga finishes, because they’ve already been over this, and he  _knows_. They’re only going to have one attempt to get close to this love spirit, and Ryuu is leaving on a plane that evening. Suga isn’t certain he can take one down on his own, and he won’t ask Tadashi for help with something this big. 

Which means Suga finds himself in a rather frilly dress, getting made up by Ryuu, complaining to fight off his nerves. A love spirit with a kink, who would have guessed. Suga hopes he can remember enough French to make this work until Ryuu can get in there after him. Suga clenches and unclenches his fists in the black skirt on his thighs until Ryuu slaps his hand away to stop him from wrinkling the fabric. 

Ryuu finishes up with Suga’s eyeliner and he can’t help but sigh in relief. Suga trusts Ryuu with his life—and more, since the going rate for that is pretty low lately—but having him near his eyes with pointy things is never an easy task to sit through. And he wishes they had more time to work with this. And, you know, that it didn’t involve flirting on the job or trying to do it in another language. Suga doesn’t  _know_  French. He’s bullshitting this with chalcedony earrings and a  _lot_  of luck. 

“You can do this,” Ryuu says with a firm clap on Suga’s shoulder. He grins, sharp, and adds, “You make a gorgeous fucking maid, dude. Take pictures later and send them to me.” 

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious. I’m still not wearing the heels.” 

“Daichi would—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Suga interrupts, because he doesn’t dare entertain that train of thought until  _after_  this job is over. It's bad enough the man has to pick him up after this. He leans over and pulls on his boots, noting how stiff the waist on the dress is (the tight bow certainly isn't helping), and Ryuu ends up lacing his boots for him. 

The Plan: Suga flirts and schmoozes his way into the love spirit’s private party. Suga ideally drags the spirit off somewhere more private, puts them to sleep, and sneaks Ryuu in after breaking the wards on some back door or window. Ryuu and Suga grab the love spirit and haul ass. 

(Plan B: Suga kills the love spirit outright at the party with a hell of a lot of dead man’s blood and/or silver. This plan hopefully still includes Ryuu breaking in as backup at some point.) 

The Scene: Suga pulls on a black double-breasted peacoat over his dress and he almost feels normal, save for how breezy his legs feel in the black sheer stockings. (And it’s Daichi’s coat. Suga isn’t sure he remembers that he borrowed it, but he’s in for one  _hell_ of a reminder in an hour or two.) Ryuu drops him off about two blocks from the big, nouveau riche mansion on the north outskirt of the city. The evening is clear, stars already visible and twinkling overhead, and the moon is a sliver on the far downtown horizon. It’s easy enough for Suga to get on the party’s grounds, simply dumping a vial of dead man’s blood on the fence and hopping over the hole in the protective wards it creates, and he makes a beeline for the knot of people in the garden. 

The Exorcist: Suga feels anything but calm as he swipes a glass of something bubbly and gold on the table. The twin witches nearest the door give him a curious look, eyes pointedly roving over his pantsless legs, and one of their flamingo familiars gives an amused chirp. Suga downs the drink, flashes them a brilliant smile, and asks, “Know where I can find the host of the party tonight?” He forgets the accent until about halfway through, creating a sad, forced parody, but it only makes the twins titter and bat their eyes at him. 

“Are you hoping for some love?” the witch on the right asks. 

“You seem knowledgeable enough to know what you want,” the other adds with another little giggle. They both nod down to his sort of bare legs again. 

“I may have, ah, heard some rumors,” Suga admits with a sheepish grin he hopes comes off as desperate as he’s feeling. Both witches nod and the darker flamingo seems to roll its eyes. Suga lowers his voice and says, “I hope I haven’t heard incorrectly.” 

“ _Non, non_!” the twins say in unison and break into more drunken laughter. “Work on your accent or else don’t force it at all, though. She may want love but she’s not exactly thirsty around here, y’know?” 

“Ah, right. Thanks.” 

He turns to leave, headed into the house, but one of the witches tugs on his sleeves and adds in a low whisper, “If you manage to get lucky, we’re buying!” 

Suga manages to keep his smile in place and reminds himself that they mean getting lucky in the sense of someone who  _didn’t_  bribe two luck spirits to make it this far. Ooh, that’s a set of mental images he could have lived without. Especially considering his current attire. 

He makes it inside, and every concern he had about finding the love spirit abruptly vanishes. 

The love spirit turns out to be a (predictably) lovely, dark-skinned woman with long, ruby red hair, curled over her bare shoulders. As cliche as it is, she’s sprawled across a large, heart-shaped bed that has been moved into the foyer in front of the stairs. She lounges, barely dressed and clearly enjoying her equally scantily clad party guests. Suga can’t begin to identify most of the crowd around her based on sight alone, but probably only half are human, and that poses a problem if she’s feeding off of other spirits’ love. 

But Suga is also  _immeasurably_  relieved to see that he’s not the only one in a maid dress. 

Someone pushes past him from the direction of the kitchen, carrying a platter of champagne glasses that definitely don’t seem to be housing champagne. He thinks the someone is human until they part the crowd with a single, musical trill of, “ _Please_!” 

Suga had definitely not signed up for sirens. This is going to get tricky. He’s been to about two proper parties  _ever_ , and neither of them had been this upscale, and he had never been in costume. He doesn’t want to leave Daichi’s coat anywhere, but he doesn’t have a whole lot of time to snag this love spirit’s attention, and he’s not going to do it in an overly large coat.

Suga reluctantly allows a handsome fairy in a butler uniform to take his coat and he shuffles closer to the bed with the love spirit on it. A half-glamored faun, in his own lacy, lingerie-esque approximation of a maid uniform, does a double-take when Suga nears him. Suga is spared his attention by a valkyrie leaping from the second story onto the chandelier overhead. 

The love spirit claps in delight and calls up, “You look so beautiful with all of those crystals, darling!” 

The valkyrie preens, wings stretched wide, and hooks her knees around the chain in order to recline in the air and bask in the attention. The love spirit gets up off of her bed and floats up, coyly investigating, despite the disappointed cry the witch on the bed gives when left alone. 

 _So she likes a show_ , Suga thinks in dismay. He doesn’t exactly have any party tricks up his sleeve; he’s surrounded by magic-users of far higher calibers than he, and it’s not like he can shapeshift or brought gifts or  _alright he didn’t think this through_. But to be fair, he found out about this job last night. Suga had been hoping it might be as easy as “go in, flash some leg, play up the ethereal beauty angle, woo love spirit, profit”. All the luck in the world probably couldn’t have saved that plan. 

The love spirit and the valkyrie, entangled with one another, swing on the chandelier overhead. A few party guests seem to be trailing up the stairs, hoping to gain her attention again, and Suga wonders just how many of them are under her thrall. Or maybe most of them just want a chance at anything she could offer them. Pretty much any part of a love spirit is an aphrodisiac.

Suga tries to think of  _anything_  that can save the night—and a pair of strong arms curl around his waist and pull him back against a flat chest. “Hey, babe, come to places like this often?” a low, rough voice purrs in his ear. 

Suga whirls around and has his silver knife, previously strapped to his thigh, against the throat of his unlucky suitor. 

Kuroo Tetsurou grins back down at him, hands up in surrender. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Suga hisses and shoves his knife back under the skirt of his dress. His anger admittedly loses steam when he sees what Kuroo is wearing: ruffly black and white boyshorts with garters attached, black lacy stockings, and a sleeveless white top that’s strangely schoolgirl-esque. And heels. Because he apparently needed to be  _taller_. 

“Kenma needed some love spirit stuff,” Kuroo replies with a shrug. 

“Are you  _cosplaying_?” 

“No, but Kenma is.” 

“Kenma’s here too?” Good fucking lord, the last thing Suga needs is a chaotic neutral witch and his pet demon in what’s supposed to be a stealthy(/flirty) job.

“He was getting snacks,” Kuroo easily replies and Suga massages his temples. “What are  _you_  doing here? And in such a delicious get-up, I may add. Sawamura here too? Cute little date night for you both?” 

No, he came here to kidnap and then bleed a love spirit who’s been a little  _too_  free with her love lately. But… maybe he can use this. “I need to get that love spirit’s attention. Care to do a favor for me?” 

“For my favorite sugar daddy? Anything,” Kuroo says with a sharp grin, totally aware of the shiver that runs down Suga’s spine at the term. 

By the time Suga is done outlining his plan (it may be generous to use the term), Kenma has returned, cheeks full of fancy cheese and crackers, carrying a glass for each of them. He passes one off to Suga without comment. He’s dressed in a rather detailed, deep red butler uniform, complete with coattails and matching red glasses, and the entire image would be impressively dapper if it weren’t for the cat-eared headband perched on his head. It looks like there's henbane woven into his short, braided hair. 

“So you want to invite yourself in for a threesome,” Kuroo summarizes. 

“Did you listen to a single thing I just said?” 

“I want half of the love spirit loot,” Kenma tells Suga. 

“Deal,” Suga says at once. Because he doesn’t want to fight his way through a mansion of supernatural people on his own. He doesn’t have much more time before Ryuu comes looking for him, and Suga would rather avoid the bad ending to this scenario. 

The New Plan is to use Kuroo Tetsurou and Kozume Kenma for what they do best: look good and cause magical havoc. (Respectively. Mostly.) 

Suga isn’t sure how to subtly get the love spirit’s attention, other than do something risque and hope, and wow, this plan definitely involves a  _lot_  of hoping. Daichi is always telling him how good he looks, and maybe Suga can act like a little minx at times, but that’s with  _Daichi_. Not with Kuroo and not in front of a room full of potentially hostile creatures. But what’s hotter than a little bit of danger? 

…Suga is so, so screwed. 

Using Kuroo as a tall, half-dressed battering ram through the crowd, the pair make it to the now-vacant bed. It smells strongly of roses and sex, to the point of nauseating, and Suga dismally wonders how clean the mattress is. He probably doesn’t want to know. Suga thinks back to the porn he’s watched and tries to think of the sexiest way for a man in a maid dress to try to take advantage of someone like Kuroo. Suga is fully aware he’s pretty, and he can handle being dominant, but he feels out of his depth trying to do something like that now. 

“I thought you wanted to put on a show,” Kuroo says with a perfectly lecherous smile. 

They’re going to have to do better than two reasonably attractive guys making out. But Suga isn’t sure  _how_. But he can’t overthink this, and he can’t let himself get distracted to the point of inactivity, so Suga pushes on Kuroo’s chest until he falls onto the bed. Kuroo raises an eyebrow and keeps his smirk in place. Suga stands between his open legs, lightly tracing his hand over the inside of Kuroo’s thigh for a moment—the man _is_  unfairly attractive, although he’s got little on Daichi’s build. 

Suga crawls onto his hands and knees over Kuroo, ignoring his shit-eating grin, and he arches his back enough to make sure the poofy skirt shows off his ass. He’s aware of that fawn from earlier eyeing him again, and he’d be more concerned about the possibility of having to jam his knife up his nose if Kuroo wasn’t glaring at him over Suga’s shoulder for him. How weirdly touching. Then, to add the necessary possessive note, Kuroo reaches up and grabs Suga’s ass, digging his fingers into him and dragging him forward until they’re eye-to-eye on the bed. 

“Hey, you actually have a pretty nice ass,” Kuroo remarks, glare gone now.

“Don’t sound so surprised about that,” Suga replies flatly and leans down and kisses him. Suga keeps himself upright on his knees but presses their chests together, weight braced on one elbow while his other hand cards back through Kuroo’s wild hair. Kuroo opens his mouth against Suga, and it’s no surprise that he almost immediately takes control of the kiss, pushing his tongue into Suga’s mouth. One of his hands keeps a firm grip on Suga’s ass—honestly, he’s getting weirdly chilly, although Kuroo’s hand is pleasantly warm itself—and the other trails his way up beneath the back of Suga’s dress. He flips the petticoat and skirt up over Suga’s back, because he wasn’t cold  _enough_ , and his hand’s journey upward is halted by how tight the bow around his waist is tied. 

“Seriously?” Kuroo breathes with a laugh against Suga’s cheek. 

“Just untie the damned bow,” Suga replies. Kuroo laughs again and leans up for another kiss, this time a sharper one; he certainly likes biting and nipping. Suga isn’t exactly complaining, but he really hopes he’s not finding out one of Kenma’s kinks or anything right now. “You taste like demon,” Suga adds as he pulls away from Kuroo’s mouth to trail down wet kisses along his jaw instead. 

“And you taste like necromancy, Sugawara. Bite me.” 

“Seems like it’s more your thing.” 

“I have a feeling we could be fucking on the bed and we probably won’t get her attention,” Kuroo says instead of answering, voice nearly lost in the hiss of the bow coming free. 

“What’s your better plan, then?” Suga is largely resigned to the fact that he's going to have to get naked in front of everyone, and at the rate he's going, Kuroo is going to leave marks, and those will last for _weeks—_ _  
_

Without warning, Kuroo flips them, and he’s leaning over Suga with a dangerous smirk. Suga feels his heart stutter in reflexive fear; Kuroo’s eyes are almost unnaturally bright and his teeth are certainly sharper than they should be. He doesn’t keep as much distance between them as Suga did, and presses down along the entire length of Suga’s body with a satisfied sigh. Kuroo grinds their hips together, movements slow and languid, and Suga is honestly a little surprised to feel that he's half-hard already. Maybe maids do something for him, and dear fucking  _god_ Suga wants to find out Kuroo's fetishes even less than he wants to know Kenma's. 

Suga is expecting something like getting tied up with his dress’ ribbon next, or maybe marks he’ll have to explain to Daichi, or hell, one of them  _actually undressing—_ but nooo, that would be predictable. Instead, Kuroo drops his settled form long enough to grow a long, inky black tail. The snap of demonic magic in the air is a sudden, nearly tangible tang that has all eyes in the room on them. 

And only then does Kuroo lean down and capture Suga’s mouth again. 

Suga is fighting to get Kuroo’s sailor shirt off when the love spirit floats down and perches on the bed next to them. Both Suga and Kuroo freeze, staring at her, and she tilts her head coquettishly. “What an interesting pair you two lovebirds are,” she comments. She lets her eyes drag down Suga’s dress and Kuroo’s garters and smiles widely. “But I can’t remember inviting such well-dressed guests.” 

“We’re friends of the tengu,” Kuroo answers with a surprisingly suave smile. He flicks his hair out of his eyes and Suga is genuinely impressed by his bedroom eyes.

“May I?” the love spirit asks, reaching out. Neither are quite sure what she means, but they both nod, and she ends up carding her fingers through Suga’s silver hair. Her touch feels  _amazing_ , soothing and electric all at once, and Suga nearly swoons. Kuroo digs his claws into Suga’s side to keep him grounded. “I must admit, I’ve never dealt much with a demon before,” she adds, still petting Suga. Maybe he wouldn't mind falling under her thrall if she keeps up that wonderful touch. 

“Variety is the spice of life?” Kuroo guesses. The love spirit nods with another indulgent smile. “Sweet. And I’ve never fucked a love spirit before.” 

“I’m not a succubus or incubus, you know.” 

“Can you blame him for being a little sidetracked right now?” Suga asks. He surprises himself at how husky his voice sounds. 

“How about we head upstairs and discuss the politics of higher versus lower spirits  _after_  the fun stuff?” Kuroo asks and Suga wants to hit him. Too fast, too soon, because she raised a good point: she’s a  _love_  spirit, not a sex spirit. 

But she seems amused by that, and nods. Maybe Suga should let Kuroo do the talking more from now on, as dumb as it sounded at the time. Or maybe he’s a weirdly lucky demon. 

The love spirit leads them upstairs. Kuroo kicks off his heels halfway up and carries them, and Suga twists the ribbon in his hands anxiously, wondering if this is a trap or if they’re really going to be able to do this. But she just leads them to a large, plush bedroom, with another horrendously cliche heart-shaped bed, and plops herself down in the center of it with a beam. 

Finally. 

Suga, hands behind his back, starts writing locking wards against his skirt. With a happy wave of his tail, Kuroo joins the love spirit on the bed, buying Suga more time. The door is locked, but there are two big windows, not to mention the possibility of her jumping into empty space. He doesn’t have time to completely ward the room, but he can at least do the windows. He creeps around the bed and quickly scribbles runes down the windowsill, pretending to draw the curtains closed as he does so, and makes sure to put an extra sway in his step just in case either of them are paying attention to him. As it turns out, Kuroo is a  _very_  good distraction. 

Suga digs out the packet of sleep soot sewn onto the inside of his dress, and the love spirit doesn’t realize what hit her until he’s standing over her and emptying it onto her face. Kuroo leans back, straddling her thighs as she coughs and slumps, and rubs his own eyes. “Be more careful with that stuff,” he mumbles with a yawn. 

Suga writes a sleep run on the love spirit’s forehead, just to be sure. “ _Sleep_ ,” he murmurs, then gives Kuroo a judgmental look. “Your idea of gaining attention was to  _announce you’re a demon_?! You could have gotten killed!” 

“This is a party for illegal magic types, right? I figured a little risk was allowed!” he says, defensively, tail curled around his arm. Kuroo runs his fingers over it with a pout. “And look at how cute this is.” 

“That’s not the point. Now where is—“  

Both of them jump when Kenma opens the door like it hadn’t been locked. He’s holding Ryuu’s hand, leading him in, and drops it and the ignore-me spell once the door is shut and warded behind him again. “I found him,” Kenma says uselessly. 

“Nearly scared the shit out of me to have him pop up out of nowhere,” Ryuu adds. He puts his fists on his hips and gives a low whistle at the unconscious love spirit sprawled on the bed. “Wow, she’s pretty. Almost a shame to kill her.” 

“Not you too,” Suga sighs. “She’s a threat and needs to be taken out. She’s caused a dozen cases of assault and has been selling illegal aphrodisiacs and love potions for almost a year.” 

“I need her blood,” Kenma adds. Ryuu gives him an incredulous look and Kenma nods toward Sugawara. “He promised me half for getting you in undetected.” 

“And for using your demon as bait,” Suga adds. Kenma frowns at Kuroo, but the demon shrugs. He changes his fingers into claws and Suga and Ryuunosuke both take out their knives. The group gets to work. 

–-

“So…” Daichi begins, standing outside his car with his arms crossed. 

Suga smiles and tries not to look guilty. “Ryuu already asked you if you could give me a ride back home. He’s flying out tonight to go see Chikara—” 

“That’s my coat,” Daichi says and nods at the black bundle in Suga’s arms. 

“Oh. Yes.” 

“ _What_  is on my coat.” 

“I don’t know, but I’ll wash it, I swear.” In hindsight, that fairy probably hadn't been any sort of waitstaff. 

“And what is all over  _you_?” 

“It’s not  _my_  blood,” Suga says and rubs at his cheek again. It’s cute, the way Daichi is visibly struggling not to look at Suga’s stockings or the skirt or all of the ruffles. But he also sort of wishes he’d address it so they can get past the Standing Awkwardly part and move onto the Kisses In The Car part. Or even just the Get Out Of Here part. 

“I wish I wasn’t so used to that phrase coming out of your mouth,” Daichi sighs and finally gets back into the car. Suga slides into the passenger seat and stows the folded coat in the back, so Daichi has a clear view of his maid dress (sans ribbon). 

The drive begins in silence. Suga nervously plays with the hem of his dress again. It’s nearly ten minutes later when he finally has to ask, “Aren’t you going to compliment me on how good I look?” 

“I need to keep my eyes on the road.” 

“We can pull over somewhere,” Suga suggests and Daichi shoots him an incredulous, annoyed look. “Fine, fine.  _I_  know I look cute.” 

“…You look  _very_  cute. Among other things that I’m sure you’re well aware of,” Daichi allows with a smile playing at his lips. “Is this payback for yesterday when I spent all morning in my ABU pants?” 

“This was a job,” Suga replies primly. Suga is not petty enough to stoop to such lows to gain the upper hand on his boyfriend. He doesn't _have_ to. “…So, Kuroo is a halfway decent kisser.” 

“Didn’t need to know that, but thanks. Was kissing Kuroo also part of your job?” 

“Surprisingly, yes. But I’d really like it if he weren’t the only one I made out with tonight while wearing this.” 

“Suga, I’m trying to drive you home,” Daichi replies, voice a touch strained. 

Suga frowns and inches his skirt’s hem up on his thigh, giving Daichi a clear view of the opaque top of the stockings he’s wearing, should he choose to look over. (He does look over at the next red light. He promptly swears and looks forward again.) 

“Your place or mine?” Suga asks innocently. 

“Do you actually want to fuck in a  _maid outfit_?” Daichi asks, and his voice is definitely tenser than usually that time. 

“I will find a clothing kink you have yet, Sawamura,” Suga valiantly declares. Fair’s fair, after all. And maids are beginning to look promising. 


	25. kuroken: the not-nightmare one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( skitty cookies go to whoever figures out the most of kuroo's thing! it's figure-out-able, i promise! ))
> 
> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: pg for sadness  
> summary: Kuroo's been spending a lot of time researching weird things on wikipedia lately.

Kuro holds the cup in front of his mouth, halfway to his lips, like he’s too engrossed in reading to actually go through the process of drinking from it. Kenma knows the feeling well. But he doesn’t like that Kuro is holding it with one of his shadowy tails that he’s been so fond of lately; normally they’re not that strong unless he’s actually concentrating. Kenma does not want juice spilled all over his laptop. 

Kenma sighs, pauses his game, and goes over to gently pry the cup from Kuro’s grasp. The demon makes a grateful sound, eyes still scanning over the wikipedia articles he’s been ingesting. Kenma’s glad he’s so eager to learn, but honestly? He hadn’t expected it would be _this_  large of a distraction. It’s even distracting Kuro from cuddle time with Kenma, which is still a luxury Kenma doesn’t indulge in often, but… he sort of wants it right now, and he’s not _getting it_ , and he’s unaccustomed to Kuro having many outside interests, as selfish as that sounds. 

…It does sound pretty bad. 

But Kenma is not risking his laptop or Kuro’s eyesight, at the very least.

“I think it’s time for a break,” Kenma says with a hand on Kuro’s shoulder. The demon makes another noise in the back of his throat and otherwise doesn’t remove his attention from the screen in front of him. It looks like he’s reading about barbed wire, of all things. 

“…Say, Kenma,” Kuro says after another little tug on his shoulder, “Why were there _two_  world wars? Why would anyone need more than one?” 

Kenma is happy that Kuro is filling out his spotty human history knowledge, but Kenma doesn’t exactly have the biggest interest in politics _or_  world history. (At least not without video games being involved.) He tries to think back to what little high school he had and eventually mumbles, “I guess… There were some economic factors, and a lot of mistakes with allies and treaties, and there were some really bad political leaders?” 

“Hm,” he replies, clearly not satisfied, and lets himself be dragged away from the laptop. Kenma shuts off his game, too, more intent on physical warmth than level grinding, and pushes at Kuro until he flops onto the bed. Kenma curls up next to him. Kenma can sense that he’s still lost in thought based on how long it takes for the demon to curl around him. 

Kenma puts it all out of his mind, chalking it up to Kuro simply going off on a research tangent, until two nights later.

It’s not the first time Kenma has woken up because of one of Kuro’s nightmares, but it’s the most distressing by far. Kuro is hyperventilating, sucking in breath between sobs like he’s drowning, claws ripping into the mattress and blankets beneath him. Fear seizes Kenma and he doesn’t want to touch him, doesn't want to make things worse. 

“Kuro?” Kenma tries, as loudly as his sleep-raspy voice can go, and Kuro jerks awake with a startled blink. 

He begins coughing on his next inhale, and sits up to try to help it; Kenma rubs his back and hums the lullaby from one of his games until Kuro isn’t coughing or crying anymore. He’s sweaty and trembling, but at least he’s calmed down. Kenma knows he’s feeling better when he sags against him and rests his cheek against the top of Kenma’s half-dyed hair. 

Kenma doesn’t ask, because Kuro’s worsening dreams are private. (And Kenma worries about being unable to help. After all, logically, shouldn’t he be one of the largest sources of stress in Kuro’s life?) But the demon rubs his cheek against Kenma’s hair and rumbles, “I don’t think this one was a nightmare.” 

“What do you mean?” Kenma carefully asks. 

“…I think I remember dying,” Kuro confesses with a tired, sad sigh. Kenma stiffens. He can’t even begin to comprehend the amount of stress that could put on someone’s psyche, especially for someone disconnected from his human life. 

Kenma snakes an arm around Kuro’s waist and pulls him back down onto the ripped bed. Kuro wiggles downward, tucking his head underneath Kenma’s chin and pressing his face against the base of his throat. Their legs tangle, and Kenma runs his fingers through Kuro’s damp black hair. “Would you like to talk about it?” Kenma asks only after they get comfortable. 

“It didn’t make much sense.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” 

“You’d think it’d be something like falling off a cliff or something, right?” Kuro jokes with a dry little laugh. 

“You can be afraid of heights just because,” Kenma replies. “It’s just something that makes you you. Even if it makes flying with you very inconvenient.” 

“I guess you’ll just have to stop flying, then.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Kenma continues carding his fingers through Kuro’s hair and Kuro’s breathing completely evens back out. He’s sure Kuro has fallen back asleep, and he’s drifting back off himself, when Kuro speaks up again. His voice is little more than a whisper when he asks, “You’ve never been shot, right, Kenma?” 

Kenma halts his ministrations. He’s been shot with a crossbow, and Kuro had _been there_ , so he must mean with a gun. And Kenma has been shot _at_ , but never shot, and he’s obviously never died from it. “…No,” Kenma replies and concentrates on petting Kuro again. He doesn’t want to think about either of them getting shot. 

But it means that Kuro probably died after guns had been invented, so at least he’s not centuries old. That lifts a previously unnoticed weight off of Kenma’s heart. 

“I think I was shot,” Kuro mumbles. “I think I was shot and left there. There was water, and it felt like I was drowning, but I think it was just rain. …And that’s it. I dreamed about laying there, and everything hurt, and everything was wet, and then I woke up. It sounds really stupid laid out like that.” 

“Kuro,” Kenma admonishes, giving his hair a little tug. “You’re talking to someone who has anxiety attacks. It’s not _nothing_  and it’s not stupid. I… don’t really know what it’s like to die, but you’re alive _now_.” 

“And here with you,” Kuro says. He at least sounds a little happier, but Kenma really wishes he could see his face right now. 

“And here with me,” Kenma agrees. 

“This life is probably better than the last one, anyway,” Kuro says and now he’s sounding far closer to his usual self. “I have you, and Bo, and Keiji in this one. And the tail is really neat.” 

Kenma sighs heavily, ruining their tender moment. “You and that stupid tail.” 

“You’re just jealous that you can’t sprout extra limbs.” 

“I’d be more jealous if they were _functional_  extra limbs.” 

“I’m getting better!” Kuro exclaims and wraps his arms, tight, around Kenma’s waist. He rolls them so Kuro is on his back and Kenma is suddenly on top of him. The witch blinks down at him; Kuro grins up at him, bright and sincere, and Kenma is glad to see it. “You should write a spell to give yourself a tail. And cat ears, like that headband of yours,”  he tells him. 

“Why?” 

“Have you ever seen pictures of cat boys on the internet?” Kuro asks seriously. 

He is _definitely_  feeling better. Kenma grabs his pillow and puts it over Kuro’s face, because he can feel his own cheeks warming, betraying him. God, couldn’t he have even used Yaku as an excuse? …Kenma is going to have to purge his laptop from stupid porn viruses, isn’t he. Again.

Kuro laughs, muffled by the pillow, and snaps the waistband of Kenma’s pajama pants with one of his shadowy tails. Kenma jumps, grip loosening on the pillow, and Kuro flips them again so he’s pinning Kenma. His grin is still in place, sharper now, gold eyes glittering in the dark. 

“ _Canımın içi,_ ” Kuro tells him, and Kenma blinks up at him, uncomprehending. He gets the gist of it when Kuro leans down to kiss him. 

Kenma knows he’s doing it to try to distract him from the prior topics, and it’s working for the most part, but Kenma also wishes that Kuro trusted him enough to let the topic lie without prodding at it. If nothing else, Kenma appreciates the value of privacy. But he will let Kuro distract himself, too, however he chooses, so he winds his arms up around Kuro’s neck and back to pull him flush against his body. They’re alive now, together, and that’s what should matter right now.


	26. oisuga: the red bathtub one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: oisuga  
> rating: T FOR BLOOD WHOOPS  
> summary: Suga and Tooru, drunk, try out his bathtub à la Báthory style.

“This is disgusting,” Tooru sniffs. He then delicately covers his scrunched nose and pretends like they’re still totally sober and able to Judge Things. Suga, at least, is aware that they’ve both had too much and this may be something that Kiyoko judges him for later. Because she doesn’t drink, and she doesn’t have bad ideas. 

“We’re committed now,” Suga tells Tooru as primly as he can manage. He takes his hand out of the bathtub and wipes the red off on one of the psychic’s white towels. 

They both stare at the red-filled tub. The bathroom still smells faintly of blood, mixed with wine, mixed with some gross too-lemony cleaning shit that Tooru insisted on trying to fix the first two smells with. Suga covers his nose, too, and wonders if someone’s going to get sick. He’s not drunk enough to throw up, is he? He doesn’t think so. At least the toilet is right there. 

“You get in first,” Tooru says and takes another sip of his wine, straight from the bottle. 

Suga scowls and steals it from him. “This was  _your_  idea. You wanna be prettier, right?” 

“No, this was  _your_  idea! How would  _I_  know about alkonosts and, uh, sirens, and… What all’s in this?” the psychic asks, trailing off a little cautiously, and squints at the tub again. 

Suga looks down at the buckets along the wall. Sober Suga had labeled them. Drunk Suga likes Sober Suga. “Uhh… Alkonost blood, siren’s milk, witch water, and…” And his handwriting had gotten progressively sloppier as more alcohol was ingested. He remembered something about love spirits. That was probably important, right? Suga looks between the empty buckets and the tub again. “Why d’you wanna be hotter? Isn’t that about impossible?” 

“Don’t try to pin this on me through flattery,” Tooru scoffs, but there’s a pleased blush on his cheeks. Or maybe that’s the wine. 

“Will this turn my hair red?” Suga asks with a worried tug on his silver hair. He frowns, maybe pouts, and mouths at the lip of the wine bottle. “I’m too pale to be a redhead,” he mumbles around it, then takes another drink. This bottle is almost gone, too. Had they added wine to the tub? 

“You’re  _always_  covered in blood. No one will notice.” 

“You’re being an ass to someone who just got you all of this magic shit.” 

“It looks gross. I changed my mind,” Tooru says, nose in the air. 

Suga scowls and sets the wine bottle on the sink. (He misses and it hits the floor, but doesn’t shatter. It’s too empty to spill much onto the tile below.) He reaches over, grabs the bottom hem of Tooru’s shirt, and lifts it up over his head. He doesn’t quite pull it over—it gets stuck on his arms—but it sure gets the brunet’s attention. 

“We don’t need this!” Tooru squawks desperately. He can’t quite get his arm back through one of the t-shirt holes, however, so he ends up letting Suga pull it off him. The psychic flops down onto the floor with an overdramatic sniff and he runs both hands back through his hair. “That mess is going to be cold and gross and I don’t trust your drunk magic!” 

“You sure trusted it last night,” Suga points out. “And ‘m not that drunk.” 

“Warm it up,” Tooru demands with a glint in his eye like an angry child. 

“I’m going to puke and pass out on you,” Suga returns. “ _You_  warm it up.” 

“I can’t believe we’re arguing who’s going to get into the bath,” Tooru mumbles. He then snorts, then laughs, and soon he’s leaning against the bathroom wall with the most delightful cackling, cheeks rosy and chest heaving. “W-We’re arguing a-about  _not_  getting into the bath…! I can’t believe  _we_  don’t wanna get into the bath!” 

Suga eyes the red mixture in the claw foot bathtub again. He’s been soaked with weirder substances. And, if Maybe Sober Suga was to be trusted, then it should be really good for their skin, right? And maybe hair. He still doesn’t want to accidentally dye his hair, though. 

“C’mon, stop laughing,” Suga says and extends a hand down to Tooru. Tooru blinks up at him, watery-eyed and hiccup-y and giggly, then he takes it and pulls himself unsteadily to his feet. Suga nearly loses his balance in the process, so maybe he should stop drinking, too. 

“You’re pretty enough already, Koushi,” Tooru says and places a sloppy kiss against his cheek. 

“Cut that out,” Suga mumbles, drawing away and rubbing his arm. Tooru chases after him, leaning down to his level and nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. “Your breath smells like beer and wine and you’re disgusting so you should  _definitely_  go step into the bath,” Suga adds without any heat. All the warmth in his body seems to be in his face; he’s certain his fingers and toes are already numb. 

“We’re going to be the most attractive men in the entire city,” Tooru says and laughs again like it’s the most hilarious joke in the world. He tugs on Suga’s shirt and though the bathroom is missing its usual steam and heat, he lets himself be stripped. Fair’s fair, after all. Even if Tooru looks better half-naked. And totally naked. That sounds like a great idea. 

Belts are a little beyond Drunk Suga right now, however, and his fingers fumble at Tooru’s. He clucks his tongue and takes Suga’s hands away, undoing it himself. Tooru steps out of his pants, manages to stay upright in the process, and then looks down at himself. Suga raises an eyebrow at Tooru’s thoughtful head tilt. 

“What are you waiting for? Get in. I bet it’ll be like a magical girl transformation,” Suga tells him, grinning and gesturing to the tub. “Some sparkles, then poof! You’re ten times hotter and you have sirens and succubi dropping at your feet.” 

“That’s still gross,” Tooru replies with another curl of his lip. He sticks his hand in and draws it back out at once, flicking stray, scarlet droplets onto the white tile near his feet. “I guess it’s not too cold, but I wish you’d warm it up.” 

“Are you  _really_  going to make me heat that up before you get in it and appreciate all my hard work?” Suga pouts. 

Tooru pouts right back at him. “C’mon, Koushi,  _please_?” 

Suga ends up writing warmth and heat wards across the bottom of the tub. It’s not a suitable fix for an actual hot bath, and he feels far woozier than he likes, but he sits down heavily and flaps his hand at the tub. Tooru beams at him and Suga’s heart may stutter in his chest. Maybe. 

Tooru stirs the concoction again with his hand and seems more satisfied. “It’s thicker than water. Ooh, this is  _so gross_.” 

“Just get in.” 

“You want me to be  _gross_?” Tooru asks in a falsely scandalized tone. 

“You  _are_  gross,” Suga tells him, totally straight-faced. 

Tooru pouts again and looks down at him. He extends a hand, his not-wet one, and asks, “How much do you like those jeans?” 

“I liked them better before that barghest tore it up, why?” 

Using the momentum from pulling Suga up to his feet, Tooru manages to haul him up enough to tip him over the edge of the bathtub and dunk him in. Suga flails and splashes everywhere, coughing at the horrible coppery taste, and sits up in the tub with his worst glare. 

“What the fuck, Oikawa?! This is—” 

Tooru steps in after him, scooting him physically to the side, and settles in with a pleased sigh. “This is  _so_  disgusting. I had to make sure you did it with me. You’re my disgusting insurance, Koushi,” he tells him. 

Suga, one hand on the edge to balance himself, stands in the tub and unzips his jeans. Tooru helps him as he steps out of them and Suga remorselessly drops the bloody jeans onto the floor. They hit the tile with a wet  _smack_  that honestly doesn’t make the situation any better. Suga throws his boxers onto the pile as well, and only afterward did he realize that he managed to put them onto their clean clothes. 

Oh well. 

Suga sits so that he’s between Tooru’s legs, Suga’s back to Tooru’s chest, and greedily leeches warmth from the psychic behind him. Tooru draws scarlet swirls on Suga’s shoulders, until Suga grabs his hand and starts correcting him, having him trace little protection and comfort runes on his skin instead. Tooru doesn’t have enough magical talent to properly use them, but it’s still a familiar gesture. Suga and Yui used to do the same thing for each other. 

“…Do you feel any hotter?” Tooru tentatively asks. 

“I was already the hottest thing in the room,” Suga replies. 

“Ha. I’m not drunk enough to find that funny, Sugawara. I’m not letting Makki smell all this blood on me unless it’s going to be  _really fucking good_  for my skin.” 

“We’re committed now,” Suga flippantly retorts and sinks lower into the not-water. 


	27. iwaoi: the alone one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: iwaoi  
> rating: t for swearing and sadness  
> summary: Iwaizumi leaves Tooru.

Tooru is dozing off, head bobbing every so often and fighting to keep his eyes open on the animal documentary on the television, when Iwaizumi’s body—Tooru’s pillow—jerks. Tooru’s head slips off of his shoulder and he catches himself with a sleepy start. He blinks blearily around, trying to reorient himself, and Iwaizumi’s hand finds his head again. He runs his fingers through Tooru’s chestnut hair and carefully settles him onto his lap. 

“Shh,” Iwaizumi murmurs. The stroking is very nice, and Tooru is already settling back into a doze. There’s a strange sort of tightness to Iwaizumi’s mind right now, but he’s also tired, too, so Tooru chalks his sudden jump down to a hypnic jerk and falls back into his light slumber. 

The documentary continues its drone about elk but does not pervade his dreams.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi is gone the next morning when Tooru wakes up (in his bed). That’s disconcerting. Iwaizumi positively  _languishes_  in late mornings, even when he’s been awake for too long, but he’s like a cat with how long he’ll contentedly lay sprawled in bed with Tooru. 

Tooru’s own love of lazy mornings wars with his mild concern for his missing lover, and the latter finally wins out. He pulls on a pair of pants over his underwear to fight off the morning chill and pads out into the living room in search of Iwaizumi. He’s not there, nor in the bathroom, nor in the kitchen. Tooru’s house is not large, but he still double-checks each room for him. The front door is still locked, but the chain isn’t drawn, and that worries him even more. 

Tooru retrieves his phone from the bedroom and taps out a text to Iwaizumi. He hears the other phone go off in the living room, muffled, and finds it beneath a throw pillow on the couch, probably left there from the night before. Alright, so Iwaizumi is gone, and probably had been for awhile, and doesn’t have his phone on him, and didn’t tell Tooru anything about leaving. Right. Tooru is not panicking. 

He makes a pot of coffee and texts Suga, to ask him if he’s heard anything from Iwaizumi. Tooru regrets sending it a moment later, especially with how fast Suga replies. “ _no, i haven’t, why?? did you lose him :/”_

 _“has he spoken to you recently about anything?”_ Tooru texts back, too worried to even mitigate the message’s seriousness with emoji. Iwaizumi is fond of both Suga and Daichi, so they’re his next bet for information on the errant skinwalker, but… it’s honestly not like Iwaizumi has many other friends. Those two, and Issei and Takahiro, and that’s all the people Iwaizumi willingly spends time with as far as Tooru knows. 

He’s texted them both, too, by the time Suga responds—“ _no, nothing, I haven’t seen him since last week. what’s going on??_ ”—and he doesn’t reply. He picks up Iwaizumi’s phone and stares at it, feeling guilty for even thinking about going through it, but where else could he be? Who else could he be with? 

Tooru sets the phone back down on the kitchen counter. He’s  _definitely_  overreacting. Iwaizumi is an adult with a strong sense of self-preservation and more tact than anyone gives him credit for. He wouldn’t run off and get killed, and he wouldn’t end up in jail because of some stupid frat boy mistake, and he probably just went out for a jog or food or whatever. Tooru feels like a paranoid asshole and he goes to drink his coffee to get his mind off things. 

By noon, Iwaizumi has still not returned. 

Tooru has finished the pot of coffee—drinking straight from it after the first cup—and still waffles over breaking into Iwaizumi’s phone. It’s not like he doesn’t know the password. For fuck’s sake, he’s a clairvoyant and even after all this time, Iwaizumi has the mental fortitude of a preteen. Tooru could snoop through his phone at any moment and Iwaizumi would be none the wiser, especially right now, since he’s  _gone_. 

But still. He’s entitled to his own time, away from Tooru. 

 _He’s just better about telling me where he’s going_ , Tooru thinks, then scolds himself a moment later. He’s overreacting. 

But skinwalkers are extinct—save Iwaizumi—these days and who  _knows_  what kind of trouble that could get him into. Hell, the dragon pelt alone would be worth a small fortune and catch the attention of almost anyone. Which Iwaizumi has with him, since he took all three of his pelts with him, wherever the hell he is. That’s the most worrying thing. 

When he broke into the human realm (and Tooru’s house), all he had with him were his skins. Tooru is  _terrified_  to think that that’s all he may bring with him if he left, too. 

 _If he left me._  He can’t rid himself of the thought, and by sundown, Tooru is examining every conversation, every remark, every action and minute detail of their interactions. Had he done something to piss him off? No more than usual. He hadn’t sensed any greater stress on him than what he usually dealt with, and neither the nightmares nor the baku had returned for a few weeks. 

Tooru calls Suga by the time he’s falling into bed, pathetically early, but he can’t bear to stay awake for much longer. He may whine and moan and gripe, but at least he doesn’t cry, as fretful as he is. And Suga, ever the voice of patience and warmth, reassures him about all of his paranoid worrying. 

Tooru makes Suga promise to take the job if they’ve found out that someone hunted Iwaizumi like some sort of sick trophy. 

Tooru also makes Suga promise to beat Iwaizumi’s ass if he just walked out on Tooru. 

The second one makes Suga laugh, just a little, and he promises both. 

 

–-

 

Tooru’s sister and nephew are in town for the next day, a long-scheduled visit that he can’t duck out of. Iwaizumi had supposed to be with him to help play with Takeru and do the whole touristy thing with them. His sister only asks one question, and Tooru dodges it messily, and she lets it be after that. Her thoughts are closed to him but he can tell she’s probably thinking he’s been dumped. Tooru always gets cagey when he’s been dumped. 

(Tooru isn’t sure he hopes Iwaizumi walked out on him or got into some sort of trouble. He feels terrible for wanting to stick to one preference.) 

The day afterward brings no more pleasant distractions for the psychic and still no word from Iwaizumi. Something terrible  _has_  to have happened, and while Tooru isn’t sure what, he’s done waiting around. He goes through Iwaizumi’s phone only as far as looking through his small contacts list, and he recognizes all of the numbers, so he hasn’t left to pursue some hidden affair. It’s not really a consolation. 

Tooru finally cries when he makes it to Mattsun’s and the man makes the mistake of asking if Tooru’s found his lost, scaly boyfriend. 

He shoves Iwaizumi’s phone at him and demands, “Find him for me! Please, Mattsun. I-I need to know where he is and  _why_  he left.” 

Issei gives him a skeptical look, but he’s as weak as anyone else to genuine Tooru tears, so he gives in and runs his tracking magic on the phone. And the results are not good. “He’s not close, Oikawa. He is  _definitely_  not close, shit.” 

“Where is he?” 

“I’m not a GPS,” Issei says with a frown. He turns the phone over in his hands a few times, tapping the edge with his thumb, and his frown deepens. “He’s a long way to the south. I don’t know where. We’re talking a plane trip to track him down. …I’m sorry.” 

 

–-

 

In the middle of the night, one week and four tubs of ice cream after Iwaizumi left, Iwaizumi returns. By breaking into the house, just like old times. 

Tooru is shocked awake by the broken wards on the door. He has his borrowed silver knife in his hand and is halfway to dialing Suga when Iwaizumi stumbles into the bedroom. Tooru freezes upon seeing him and Iwaizumi just yawns and flops onto the bed. 

Tooru’s throat closes up and he feels like he should stab Iwaizumi anyway for putting him through the past week of hell. But a large part of himself is very relieved to see Iwaizumi in one piece. 

The skinwalker looks at the pair of boxes in the corner, full of his clothes. (Suga had been by earlier to try to talk Tooru into  _not_  burning everything in his front yard.) “What?” Iwaizumi grumbles, the first word he’s said, and Tooru kicks him with a scowl. 

“What the fuck?!” Tooru snarls and Iwaizumi rolls to face him, teeth bared and body tensed like a feral animal. “You left for a week!” 

“Don’t fucking kick me!” Iwaizumi snaps back. 

“You  _left me for a week_!” Tooru reiterates. “You didn’t say a single word, left your phone and all your shit here, and then waltz back in like you haven’t been gone?!” 

“Well, up until a minute ago, I was thinking I didn’t want to wake you, but—” 

“Breaking into my  _house_  wakes me up! And you know that!” Tooru harshly cuts in. He puts the knife back in its sheath before he can be stupid, and stows it back in the nightstand drawer. He’s aware of Iwaizumi’s eyes tracking his movements. 

Iwaizumi is a ball of wariness and distrust right now, and Tooru thinks that’s _very_  unfair. “I forgot my key,” Iwaizumi tells him, tersely, and Tooru wants to laugh. 

“You forgot your  _everything_ , Iwa-chan. You were gone a week. Without saying anything?” 

“I had to take a trip.” 

Tooru really, really hates him right now. He hates the way his eyes burn with tears right now even more. He scrubs his wrist over his eyes, hoping to stop himself from crying, because this is a stupid fight to have in the middle of the night and he’s an _adult_  and he shouldn’t have been so upset about Iwaizumi leaving in the first place. He can do what he wants. (Tooru just is unused to getting blindsided and had thought that Iwaizumi wanted  _him_.) 

Tooru can practically  _hear_  the Oh Shit moment when Iwaizumi realizes that Tooru had assumed  _he left him_. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, voice gone soft and agitation falling from his psyche like water, “Oikawa, please look at me.” He crawls closer on the bed and Tooru stiffens when he feels Iwaizumi’s hands on him. One hand tentatively touching the arm pressed against his eyes, and the other gently cupping his jaw, turning him up toward him. 

Tooru allows his arm to be pulled away. He’s glad he’s not crying right now, though his eyes still sting. 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi tells him first, eyes searching his, trying to scream  _sincerity_  in his thoughts. Tooru probably winces, because he mentally pulls back a moment later. “I’m sorry for leaving without telling you. I never wanted to make you think I _left_. I wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t do that without discussing it with you first.” 

“Then why  _did_  you leave?” Tooru asks, voice only a little wobbly. He swallows and Iwaizumi sits back, hands dropping away from him. 

“I had to… go check something. I was upset and in a hurry and I didn’t think to leave a note or anything,” Iwaizumi replies. His eyes skate sideways and he pulls his mental walls up around himself like a child with their favorite blanket. Tooru does not prod, because most of his anger has melted away by now, replaced by relief and annoyance and worry. 

“What was such a big hurry for you? I had Mattsun try to find you, and he said that you were really far away.” 

“I flew a couple days south,” Iwaizumi fields. 

“…Will you really not tell you what you were doing? Are you okay?” Tooru asks, equal parts concern and hurt in his voice. He feels rather raw, scrubbed down by a week’s worth of emotion, and he pettily  _wants_  Iwaizumi to hear that from him. 

“I’m fine now. I just had to take care of something personal. It was… sort of a mess, and I didn’t want you to see me like that.” 

Tooru is runny-nosed, nearly crying, and has been living off of coffee, thin min ice cream, and Sugawara’s sympathy for the past few days. And  _Iwaizumi_  is the one who doesn’t want to be seen like that, right. Without meaning to, Tooru lets out a bark of a laugh, rough and maybe a little mean. Iwaizumi gives him an annoyed look in response. 

“You’re going to have to willingly tell me  _something_  eventually, Iwa-chan!” Tooru teases, still a little meanly. “I don’t want to lock you in the bathroom again.” 

“You don’t have to know  _everything_ ,” Iwaizumi snaps back. 

“I want a few more answers tonight than ‘it was personal’.” 

“It  _was_! And it predates you by a century or two so it’s none of your fucking business!” And then there’s real, raw anger in Iwaizumi’s voice, and Tooru falls silent with a blink. Iwaizumi rubs a hand over his face, regret already rolling off him, but he doesn’t apologize or try to take back what he said. “I just… needed to be alone for this. God, I love you, but you’re so fucking nosy sometimes. You don’t need to  _fix_  everything.” 

“You  _forgot_  about telling me where you were going,” Tooru petulantly replies. He feels childish and petty and all of those things he hates seeming in front of Iwaizumi, but he also still feels like he’s some level of in the right, and that fuels him. 

Iwaizumi’s mental walls crack, and Tooru gets a flash of fire and thick brown fur and a deep, profound sense of sudden loss. Iwaizumi is glowering at him, green eyes hard, but then his glare cracks, too, and now  _he’s_  the one rubbing tears from his cheeks. Tooru stares, hardly comprehending the sight. 

“I’m alone, okay? I’m the last skinwalker and I’m getting used to that. But I—my stupid fucking elk pelt is extinct, too,” Iwaizumi tells him. He draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms to try to contain himself. “That thing we were watching last week said that they died out over a hundred years ago, and I always thought… I know  _my_  skin got burnt, but I thought I could replace it. But I can’t, because they’re all dead, and I can’t ask anyone else about trying to use others because there’s  _no one else_ , and that means I can’t ever turn into a stag again.” He draws his knees up tighter against himself and his shoulders shake. “A-And it was really stupid, asshole, so I didn’t want to tell you that I flew a couple hundred miles just so I could go cry over some dead deer.” 

Tooru reaches out, carefully, and places his hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “It’s not stupid.” It’s been nearly a year since Ptar-Axtlan burned his skin, and he’s never really discussed the topic, but Tooru had stupidly marked it up as a lack of grieving. He hadn’t thought it was important once he found out Iwaizumi would live without it. “It was part of yourself. And I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position, but I’m here for you as long as you’ll let me be.” 

Iwaizumi leans into his touch and Tooru shifts forward until he can pull Iwaizumi against his chest. Slowly, Iwaizumi loosens his posture, until he can sigh against Tooru’s shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist. “I don’t want to leave you,” he murmurs.  _I don’t want to be alone, and I didn’t mean to leave you alone,_  his thoughts echo. 

“I’m here for you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replies quietly. He tugs him down into the bed with him and kicks up covers halfheartedly over them. “Don’t give me a heart attack and leave suddenly like that again, but I’ll stay with you. And neither of us are alone. I’m sure  _someone_  can figure out enough transformation magic to help you puzzle out some sort of deer replacement charm.” 

“Being a stag was nice, but it’s not really about the deer, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says flatly. 

“I want to see Bambi Iwa-chan!” 

“What’s a Bambi?” Iwaizumi asks. 

The next day, they watch  _Bambi_ , and maybe it’s a little mean considering Iwaizumi’s state of mind but Tooru  _did_  just go through a hell week of his own, so he doesn’t feel too terrible while his boyfriend bawls. 

(He makes it up to him by tracking down a museum two cities over. It’s a long day trip, but it’s worth it to bring Iwaizumi into the herbivore room and sit him down on the bench in front of a taxidermied, extinct deer.) 

(Tooru refuses to help him steal it to see if he could turn it into a workable pelt, however.)


	28. daisuga: the teasing one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t  
> summary: Daichi, yet again, helps Suga out with one of his jobs. Because that's what his life has become. (And Suga, yet again, deals with the fallout of that as only Suga can.)

“Ooh, how sexy,” Suga coos with a full grin that shows off his teeth, stark white against all the blood that’s rushed to his face. 

Daichi’s eyes narrow behind his reading glasses. Tadashi fidgets beside him, looking between his two bosses, and finally settles on looking up at where Suga’s hanging. “Can you just cut him down…?” Tadashi asks with a tiny gesture up at him. 

“Do I even want to  _know_  how this happened?” Daichi asks, exasperation dripping off his words, and Suga laughs and swings a little. His ankle hurts and he feels light-headed from being like this for this long, but Daichi in casual wear and glasses makes it worth it. 

“There was a nuckelavee that got loose, and we didn’t think it had enough time to make traps, but. Well. It did,” Suga replies with another little swing. 

“He told me not to touch it,” Tadashi adds and points up at the oozing, half-coagulated tendril sticking out of Suga’s leg. 

“Dead man’s blood clearly doesn’t do anything to it,” Suga explains with another little wiggle. His head feels fuzzy and heavy and he feels more than a little sick. “Ryuu and Tora should be fine taking it down, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take and I don’t want to be stuck up here for that long and I didn’t want Tadashi messing with this.” 

“With enough luck—” Tadashi starts but Suga shakes his head. And immediately regrets the action. Though he’s scowling, Tadashi doesn’t argue further. 

“How am I supposed to get you down?” Daichi asks with a sigh and a pointed look up at the high ceiling. 

Neither Suga nor Tadashi can give him an answer to that. 

Daichi sighs again, louder and longer, and pushes his glasses up onto his hair so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Here, hand me the vorpal sword,” Suga says, guilt starting to seep into his dizziness, and he reaches down for Daichi with grabby hands. 

“You’ll just burn yourself,” Tadashi points out.

“And I’m not sure you can get up to reach your leg,” Daichi adds with a smirk he tries to hide. 

Suga looks up at his leg. …That’s a lot of necessary core strength for someone who has issues with half a push-up. “…I’m not going to try that in front of you two, but give me the sword.” 

“I can get up onto the roof and come through the ceiling?” Tadashi suggests. 

“You’ll just fall through it and end up faceplanting on the floor,” Suga replies. He already knows Tadashi’s track record with that intangibility spell and the freckled boy’s face reddens. “Or get yourself stuck, too.” That, too, had happened before. 

“What about a float potion?” Tadashi suggests next, still sour-faced, but helpful as ever. 

“I don’t have any on me,” Suga says. He points to his fallen bag in the corner; Tadashi has already been through it, before he went to fetch Daichi, and he doubts anything in there will help since dead man’s blood and silver both hadn’t done anything to the ichor keeping him on the ceiling. 

“Uh, Daichi, do you think you could lift me that high?” Tadashi asks meekly. 

They both look up at where Suga is hanging. If Tadashi stood on Daichi’s shoulders, he’d probably be able to reach, but that still involves handing him the vorpal sword. Daichi shakes his head and takes off his glasses, stowing them in his shirt pocket. Suga whines at him. 

“What if you just… threw it or something?” 

“We’d probably end up hacking his leg off!” 

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas!” Tadashi says defensively, frowning at the far wall. “If you won’t give either of us the sword, then our options are limited.” 

“Don’t get bratty, Yamaguchi,” Daichi says and smacks him in the shoulder. “It’s my sword, it’s my boyfriend, and it’s  _my_  night you’ve both ruined. I’m not going to let either of you hurt yourselves further.” 

Neither of the hunters have anything to say to that, and Suga drops his arms, hanging limply above them.  _Ruin his night?_  Guilt settles in more permanently with his dizziness. It has been awhile since Suga has had to ask Daichi to borrow his sword, but it’s certainly happened in the past, and…  _Right, he doesn’t want to be part of all of this._

“I-I’m sure Tsukki will be back soon,” Tadashi mumbles in the same shy, remorse-filled voice that echoes Suga’s own thoughts. “He could probably help us somehow…” 

Suga doesn’t point out that that could still take quite some time. Daichi seems to sense it, anyway, and he pulls his dogtags out of the back pocket of his jeans. With a smooth, practiced move, he summons the sword from within them, and holds it out at arm’s length. Suga wonders if it’s long enough that he could try to hack at the tendrils himself, but that still involves a lot of core strength he likely doesn’t have, and he’s not sure he trusts himself to blindly swing at his own leg right now. 

“So you’re not going to let either of us touch the sword?” Tadashi asks flatly. “Even though I’ve used it before?” 

“And you burnt your hands with it,” Daichi replies. He steps over to Suga’s bag and opens it up, rummaging around inside. “You don’t have anything like flight or float potions? Super strength? Wall-sticking?” 

“What kinds of things do you  _think_  I carry with me?” Suga asks in disbelief.

“Suga, I have seen you pull  _all kinds of shit_  out of this bag. How am I supposed to know?” 

Tadashi gives him a He’s Got You There look up at him and Suga shrugs, upside-down. So it might look a little random to an outside perspective. But he definitely carries relevant and specific things with him in his messenger bag. “If there was anything that could help in here, I would have already suggested it. This position isn’t that comfortable,” Suga tells them. 

“There’s got to be  _something_ ,” Daichi mumbles and starts pulling out things. Tadashi stands over him, accidentally blocking Suga’s view of them, and Suga can’t help but sulk as they go through his things. 

“That’s just a sleep potion. Oh—I think that one’s baku juice? That’s just witch water…” Tadashi narrates over the sound of clinking jars. “That’s just soda, and I think that is… Wait, is that  _luck_? Suga, where did you get this much luck?” he asks, eyes narrowed but fighting a grin, and holds up a little plastic bottle half-filled with glittering gold. 

“Yaku lost a bet,” Suga mumbles. “And no, I don’t want to use it right now. It’d be a waste unless we’re hoping this thing just snaps on its own.” 

“What’s this, ink?” Daichi asks, holding up a tupperware container with thick, jet black liquid sloshing around inside it. 

“That’s liquid shadow, and it’s hard to get, so please don’t—” Suga begins, only to be cut off by a triumphant crow by Tadashi as he seizes the container. He pries off the lid and splashes all of it onto the ground beneath Suga. 

Tadashi pulls Daichi up to his feet and maneuvers him so he’s standing beside the pitch black puddle; Suga just gapes at him. That had been expensive, damn it. 

“Um, hold on, I think it’s…” Tadashi mumbles to himself and begins tracing runes on the wooden floor, just outside the blackness. 

“What the hell?! That was  _mine_!” Suga growls and swipes at him, despite behind well out of reach. “I’m taking that out of your paycheck, young man!” 

Tadashi, tongue stuck out in concentration, doesn’t even seem to register his words. (Daichi, on the other hand, gives Suga a  _look_  and snickers at his use of ‘young man’. Suga’s glad his face is already red because wow, that was terrible, even for him.) 

Tadashi finishes the worryingly long chain of runes and the shadows leap up from the floor. Suga cringes back and Daichi jumps, but they’re not alive, just moving up into a twisted sort of pile. It looks like Kuroo, except not solidifying into a demon, just— _ah_. The tower of now-solid shadows reaches up to about eye level for Suga before running out of matter to work with. 

Tadashi, pale and sweaty, gives Suga a thumbs-up and a weak smile. 

“Go sit down before you pass out,” Suga says, and he doesn’t need much convincing. Daichi eyes the shadows skeptically, so Suga explains, “It’s a spell of Kenma’s he uses when Kuroo tries to spend too much time in his shadow. It makes shadows corporeal. Tadashi, don’t try to use that much magic yourself without preparation ever again! …But it should be safe to climb up.” 

“Should be?” Daichi asks, patting it. 

“Just don’t stab it with your sword.” 

Daichi does the smart thing and returns the sword to his tags as he carefully climbs the shadows. He doesn’t complain, although Suga has to wonder how sharp some of those corners are from the way the man winces every so often. 

But it doesn’t take him very long to reach Suga and Suga greedily grabs him and tugs on his shirt, hair, arms, anything he can reach. “My hero,” he purrs and tries to pull himself to Daichi to press a kiss to his hair. “Do we get to do the Spider-man kiss now?” 

“Let’s get you down before something gives way,” Daichi replies, straight-faced despite the way Suga is placing quick pecks all over his face now. “Suga, hold still. I have to get up further to reach your foot.” 

Suga obediently stops his wiggling, although he reaches out and wraps his arms around Daichi—to help stabilize him, of course. Daichi climbs the last few stable steps of the shadows, and he does wobble a little, so Suga actually feels pretty relieved that he can help him stay upright. And, hey, if Suga’s face is about even with Daichi’s lower stomach, then who’s he to complain? 

Daichi gives him a warning growl as he pulls the vorpal blade back out. Suga hides a grin against Daichi’s shirt and gives his butt an appreciative pat. “Suga, stop that.” 

“I’m keeping you still. Wouldn’t want you to fall, Daichi.” And if patting turns into groping, oh well. Suga can blame it on his own lightheadedness. Daichi has the best ass, and this is an interesting angle to work with, and Suga is a sucker for novelty. He’s only human. 

“Can you two stop being gross?!” Tadashi calls from the floor. “Please, save it for when you get home!” 

Suga gives Daichi’s ass a loud, hard slap. Tadashi groans and sticks his tongue out up at them. Daichi wobbles, huffs, and continues trying to saw through the sticky tendril. Suga stares up at him, at first fondly because he blushes  _very_  cutely, and then in alarm. ‘Wait, Daichi—”

“Get your hands off my ass before you say anything else, Sugawara.” 

“No, seriously, Daichi, wait a moment, if you cut me down right now—” 

Daichi seems to realize his mistake at the same moment that the ichor gives way to the vorpium. Suga’s weight, suddenly not suspended anymore, yanks downward and Daichi doesn’t have a good enough balance to catch either of them. Suga lets go of Daichi, trying to twist enough to grab hold of the shadows, but they both end up falling anyway. 

Suga lands in someone’s arms, bridal style. He blinks up at Kei. 

“I take it you two figured this out on your own,” Kei says thinly. 

“You get points deducted for the late entrance,” Suga says, patting his cheek, then wriggles until he’s dropped. Except Kei hadn’t caught him on the floor, so Suga ends up flopping onto the shadow pile with a  _whump_. He can see Daichi on the other side of the shadows, caught and held up by where his boot had caught on an edge, now upside-down and glaring at the wall. 

“I don’t like your jobs,” Daichi deadpans as Suga breaks into laughter. 

He and Kei help him  _carefully_  detach his foot and somehow, they all end up on the ground floor without any broken bones or worse injuries. Suga’s foot still hurts from the tentacle trap, and it feels strange to be right-side-up again, but he’s sure he won’t die of blood poisoning or anything. Daichi notices his limp, however. 

As Tadashi gestures excitedly to the shadowy mess he made and Kei pretends to listen, Suga cleans up his scattered things and his bag. Daichi stows the vorpal sword and extends a hand down to help him up. “Usually our jobs go better,” Suga tells him, but lets him haul him back to his feet. 

“I’ve heard that before.” 

“It’s true. But thank you for your help anyway. You win the most points for Knight in Shining Armor tonight.” 

The shadows slowly melt back into an inky puddle, and Suga sighs at the waste. Oh well. It looks like Tadashi and Kei are both unscathed tonight, and that’s good news. He’ll have to hear back from Ryuunosuke and Taketora later, whenever they get done. Suga has had  _far_  worse jobs before. 

They send the boys home and Suga bats his eyes until Daichi lets him come home with him to check on his foot. “What would you have done if my place had been across town from here?” Daichi asks as they wait at the train station, breaths fogging in the cold night air. 

“Hmm, call Kenma and hope he could send tengu help our way? I’m sure Tadashi would have figured out the shadow trick eventually…” Suga scoots a little closer to Daichi, resting his head on his shoulder, and he feels Daichi sigh against him. Suga’s a little tired of making Daichi sigh so much. “The glasses were nice, though. Did we pull you away from reading?” 

“I was actually reading before bed.” 

“Didn’t mean to ruin your bedtime, grandpa.” 

“Some gratitude,” Daichi grouses. Suga laces their fingers together and brings their joined hands up, kissing the back of Daichi’s. “You’ll give me a heart attack yet, Suga.” 

“I can stop it, you know. I don’t mean to drag you into these things,” Suga replies. He can’t meet Daichi’s eyes, but his voice is even and solemn. 

“Who will haul your ass out of the fire, then?” 

“I’ve been doing this for a  _little_  while before you came along, you know. And I have a lot of people to help me, especially now.” Suga runs his thumb along the outside of Daichi’s thumb, cherishing the warmth and hoping his soothing action isn’t totally transparent. “I’ll be fine. It’s just  _so_  convenient to have a magic-eating sword lying around, even if you don’t let anyone borrow it!” 

“You only like me for my sword, I knew it,” Daichi laments, and the joking tone finally lets Suga raise his eyes to meet his again. Daichi smiles at him, soft and affectionate and  _loving_ , and Suga feels himself smile back, just as warmly. “I like to complain about as half as much as you do, and I wish you could stay out of trouble for five minutes, but I don’t mind helping you from time to time.” 

“Glad to hear it, Sawamura,” Suga replies, pleased. He doesn’t really like how much that reassurance means to him—they’ve been dating for  _how long_  now, he should be confident in their relationship and feelings for one another—but it still means a lot to hear Daichi admit it aloud. “And I definitely like you  _and_  your sword a lot.” 

“Glad to hear that, too.” Daichi presses a kiss against Suga’s bangs, still smiling, and their train pulls into the station. 

He tugs Suga to his feet, keeps their hands together, and they manage to snag a couple of seats near one end of the car. (Suga is, by now, very used to the strange stares his ripped, bloody clothes can garner. Even Daichi seems to be able to ignore them now, too.) 

“But Suga?” Daichi asks as the train departs again and Suga settles his messenger bag on his lap instead of by his bloody boots. Suga hums, letting him know he heard him as he double-checks his bag. “Stop fucking groping me in front of Yamaguchi. It’s weird and embarrassing.” 

Daichi’s still smiling, but now it’s something scary, and Suga chuckles nervously. “H-How can I resist, though?” 

“Easily. I don’t do anything to you in public, despite how unfairly attractive you are at all times.” 

“Aw, Daichi, that’s  _so sweet…_  And so completely unfair of a comparison. I’d be totally okay with you doing  _all sorts of things_  to me in public,” Suga replies sweetly. A couple of the nearer passengers are shooting them incredulous looks and one teenage girl is openly staring at them over her phone. 

“Suga,” Daichi warns, but his face is starting to get a little red. “ _No.”_

“You’re no fun.” 

“And you’re still bleeding.” 

“That’s why we get to play naughty soldier and the field medic at your house, right?” Suga asks, lowering his lashes and his voice, and Daichi definitely blushes at that. 

“Oh my god. Suga, you’re  _terrible_.” Daichi lets go of his hand and tries to cover his face, but Suga gently tugs his hand down again with a laugh. 

“I know, but you love me for it.” 

“You’re a monster and you must be stopped.” 

“I can roleplay that, too, if you want—”

“Just.  _Stop_.” 

“The safeword is ‘shadow’ tonight—” 

“I’m starting to think you genuinely get off on embarrassing me in front of other people,” Daichi grumbles, now very red and frowning severely. 

“Don’t kinkshame me,” Suga replies. He leans against him, nuzzling his face into the crook of Daichi’s neck, giving him a series of tiny, chaste pecks. 

Daichi turns to face him, pulling away from Suga, and Suga is about to apologize when Daichi cups the back of his head. He tugs, lightly, on Suga’s hair and tilts his head back; Suga gasps, minute and more surprised than anything else. Daichi closes the distance between them and captures Suga’s mouth with his own. 

Taking advantage of Suga’s parted lips, Daichi deepens the kiss almost immediately. He tilts his head, just enough to give him a better angle, fingers tightening briefly in Suga’s hair. Suga finally gets past his  _holy shit_  moment and leans into the kiss. Daichi’s other hand comes down to Suga’s hip, playing just a moment with the hem of his shirt beneath his open jacket, before he slides his hand up Suga’s side and wraps his arm around him. Daichi pulls Suga against him,  _tight_  against him, and Suga can’t believe Daichi is being so forward in front of other people, much less across a seat on a train, but  _holy fuck he would never complain_. 

And right when Daichi begins doing that amazing thing with his tongue pushing against Suga’s, he breaks the kiss and pulls away. The hand in Suga’s hair comes around to tuck a few silver locks behind his ear, and Daichi smiles at him, warm and soft and loving and  _innocent_. 

And Suga’s left there, red-faced and confused and surprisingly turned on by that little dominance display. (Maybe  _he’s_  the one with the exhibition kink? That can be explored later.) Suga can’t even bring himself to ask. He  _knows_  why. Because now he’s the one who’s weirdly embarrassed and blushy and Daichi looks like the cat who got the canary. 

The train pulls into their station and Daichi stands, extending his hand down to Suga again like a perfect gentleman. Suga wants him to go back to the Making Out In Front Of Strangers Daichi. But he takes his hand, grabs his bag, and at least they get to hold hands all the way back to Daichi’s apartment. 

And Suga doesn’t tease him for the rest of the night. 


	29. daisuga: the high heels one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( don't ask me why suga wore a rhythm dress to a smooth dance. don't question any of this fic but please question my tiny amount of Professional Dance Credibility even less ))
> 
> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: m for… some tiny bits of sin…  
> summary: Daichi's thoughts take a downward spiral after an evening spent with his crossdressing (again) boyfriend.

Daichi swallows and resists the urge to cover his mouth. Suga clicks on ahead of him. This is embarrassing. Frustrating. Ridiculous.  _Sinful_. 

He needs to get ahold of himself. 

At least it had started innocently enough.  _Right?_   Well, he can tell himself that, anyway. Daichi - of all the things he expected his new, magically-aware life to bring, getting used to Suga (and others) in skirts and dresses isn’t one of them -  _almost_  could overlook Suga’s attire for tonight. The thing that had really knocked him off kilter, at least at first, was that Suga was now taller than him. Still is, too, since he has yet to take off the strappy, ivory heels for even a moment. It’s actually impressive how well he manages to move in those, considering Daichi has seen the man trip over a toy mouse before. 

But once Daichi had noticed that he now had to angle his face upward, just a little, to look into Suga’s big doe eyes, it was all downhill from there. 

Everything was knocked off balance, and everything carried with it a giddy sort of novelty. Which is  _not_  something Sawamura Daichi needed when his boyfriend showed up for the evening in a ruby red cocktail dress and heels. 

The night itself had been fine, at least. Daichi had been a stupefied mess, Suga had teased him, what else was new. He’d dutifully listened to Tooru and Suga bitch about coming in second place, which involved a  _lot_  of jargon about queer tango and sirens (somehow) being tone deaf and how Tooru wanted to dance an Argentine but Suga hadn’t known it and - 

Most of it went over Daichi’s head. He (and Iwaizumi) tried their best to stop from staring at Suga’s bare legs or how amazing Tooru’s ass looked in his suit. 

But second place was good, right? In general. Maybe not enough for Sugawara Koushi and Oikawa Tooru, but in  _general_ , it was something to be proud of. Daichi could totally pretend to offer Suga congratulations, right? Well, they’d be  _real_  congratulations because he’s honestly pretty fucking stoked that it turned out his boyfriend has exactly one semi-normal life skill, but. You know. Daichi certainly knows. 

Why does Suga’s building have to have so many  _stairs_? Why did Daichi let Suga walk in front of him? His dress isn’t exactly short, but it’s mid-thigh and then the heels make his legs look better and then he’s  _above_  Daichi on the stairs and. Well. Daichi swallows again and wishes he were a stronger man so he could look away. The  _click-click-click_  of Suga’s heels echo in the otherwise empty stairwell. 

Somewhere after the third floor, Suga pauses to check his phone - apparently not even he is confident enough to try that, up the stairs, and in four-inch heels to boot - and Daichi eyes the nearest wall and pretends he’s not thinking about pushing Suga up against it. Suga had been extra careful for  _weeks_  to make sure he wouldn’t have any cuts or bruises visible for this party (Daichi had been unaware he’d been showing so much skin at the time, but in hindsight, maybe that should’ve tipped him off), and Daichi normally feels only guilt at the thought of marking up Suga. But  _those legs_  and oh god he’s going to hell. Tooru’s probably laughing at him from across town. But Daichi can think of nothing more than pushing Suga against the wall, dropping to his knees, and biting his way up his thighs. Kissing, too. Licking. Sucking. Every-fucking-thing. God Daichi just wants to worship Suga’s legs and thank all of the non-hostile gods for how good human legs look in high-heeled shoes.

“You okay?” Suga asks. Daichi jumps. Suga smirks at him over the edge of his phone, eyes crinkling just a little bit in amusement, but he doesn’t seem to be tipped off. Suga hasn’t gotten that devious little glint in his eye yet. Thank god. “You’ve been sort of _off_  tonight, Daichi. Everything alright?” 

“Y-Yeah. Of course. Long night, right?” Daichi lies, and badly. 

“Still distracted by the outfit?” Suga asks and  _of fucking course_  Daichi immediately has to look him up and down again. Suga chuckles with his phone against his mouth. “I wasn’t serious. I would’ve thought this little spell had worn off by now. You’ve seen me in worse, Daichi.” 

Did the Maid Incident count as  _worse_? Daichi’s gaze lingers on the ivory heels and wonders if Suga would step on him if he’d asked.  _Oh good lord, Sawamura. What the hell?! Do I have a kink?_  Suga would  _never_  let him live it down if he started something like that after all of the teasing Daichi gave him about the military thing. And he’d probably wear heels 24/7 from then on. 

Suga must never know. 

Suga would also  _totally_ say yes and Daichi’s will just about crumbles with that little realization. 

“Earth to Daichiiiii,” Suga says and snaps his fingers a couple times. Daichi starts and snaps to attention, and Suga bursts into a fresh round of giggles. “You serious? This is really that distracting to you?” 

With a herculean feat of strength, Daichi tears his eyes away to instead stare at the far wall. “Can we… just get going again?” 

“Depends how much more I can milk this for.” 

“I’d like to return to your apartment.” 

“In a hurry to get me home?” Suga says and bats his eyelashes. 

Daichi sighs through his nose. “Suga,  _please_.” 

“It’s not like anyone else will be using the stairs this late at night,” he replies, pointedly, and leans up against the concrete wall behind him. Daichi can’t help but notice how he shifts his weight to accommodate and one long, pale leg bends just a little bit. 

After a pause, Suga bends his leg more, his shoe coming to rest against the wall behind him, and Daichi raises his eyes a beat too late after the movement. 

And Daichi knows he’s caught. 

“Daichi,” Suga purrs, pushing off of the wall to approach him, and Daichi inwardly panics. He’s  _inappropriately_  into the thought of pushing Suga back up against that wall and kissing him senseless (or going back to that first idea of his), but he’s absolutely not doing that in the stairwell to Suga’s apartment building. Unlike his boyfriend, Daichi knows when fantasies should  _stay_  fantasies. 

(Unless Suga could magic-lock every door in the stairwell and then  _maybe_  - )

Daichi, while trying to salvage his crashing and burning train of thought, is _not_  completely new to the whole Dealing With Suga thing, however. So he knows how to get Suga just as distracted as he is, albeit with far less thirst and far more feelings, because  _that’s_  Suga’s weakness. And Daichi is not above using it against him. 

Daichi grabs Suga’s hand, turns it over in his grasp, and presses a kiss to Suga’s pulse point. And Suga goes from saucy minx to blushing and sappy-eyed in two milliseconds. Daichi intertwines their fingers and tugs him towards the stairs again, and Suga, starry-eyed, follows him like he now knows true adoration. “Let’s just get home, and then we’ll see, okay Suga?” Daichi says, voice soft so Suga can’t hear the guilty strain in it, and Suga nods enthusiastically. 

Suga’s hand is cool against his, nothing new, but the pleased blush remaining on his face  _is_  something new. Suga has the most illegally adorable blushes, but they’re quick to come and quick to go. Daichi can just about tune out the  _click-click-click_  of those fucking heels, and soon enough, they’re on Suga’s floor. Suga’s cheeks are still the faintest pink, made all that much warmer by the red dress, and Daichi doesn’t let go of his hand until Suga needs it to unlock his door. 

Suga tosses his clutch onto the couch and Daichi drops their jackets haphazardly onto the shoe rack. Suga stoops to start unbuckling all of the straps of his heels, but now, in the (relative, since Sunshine is  _already_  meowing at them) privacy of Suga’s own home, it’s a different story than the stupid stairwell. 

Daichi grabs Suga’s wrists - Suga looks up at him with warmth and surprise in equal measures - and pulls him back upright, pinning him against the door. Daichi hadn’t quite calculated for the height difference with his shoes still on, but there’s that thrill of newness again, and Suga is looking down at him with wide, round eyes and his lips are parted from a small gasp at getting pinned, and that seems like enough invitation. Daichi leans up, leans forward, and  _finally_  kisses Suga. 

It takes a few moments to get used to the different angles, and Suga (of course) opens his mouth to lick at Daichi’s lips almost immediately, but Daichi isn’t having any of that tonight. He shifts his grip on Suga’s wrists so he can hold them both with one hand, and he leans up a little bit more to ensure that Suga  _feels_  the weight of Daichi pinning him against the door. Suga gasps sharply and there’s just the tiniest, testing tug of one of his arms, but Daichi tightens his grip. He runs his now-free other hand appreciatively up Suga’s thigh, rucking the skirt up and revealing more pale flesh. 

Suga makes a sound in the back of his throat as his tongue slides against Daichi’s, and he hikes his leg up over Daichi’s waist. Daichi shifts his hand so he can help him support his weight, marveling at the smoothness of his thigh, but Suga apparently takes that as permission to have Daichi support  _all_  of his weight. Daichi quickly finds himself with Suga wrapped around him, and he can feel the tip of one of the heels digging into his back as Suga adjusts, and Daichi has to release his wrists in order to make sure no one falls. 

“We need to teach you a binding charm,” Suga says, smugly, against his mouth. Daichi gives his ass a squeeze in retaliation, and Suga responds by running his fingers through Daichi’s short hair and then  _pulling_. Daichi lets his head tilt back, unable to help a groan, and Suga leans down to nip at his exposed throat. 

“I seem to handle myself pretty fine around you without them,” Daichi snarks back, unable to resist, and Suga raises his head to give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Work with me, here, Daichi.” 

“ _I’m_  not going to be the one trying to do magic in the bedroom, Suga,” he replies, and after a bit of adjusting, he steps away from the wall. Suga latches onto his shoulders, fingers digging in, legs tightening around his waist, and looks a lot more interested and starstruck again instead of sassy. Good. Daichi dodges the cat, ignores the pressure of the heels against his back, and carries Suga toward his bedroom. “But I think your handcuffs will make a suitable replacement for tonight,” Daichi adds. Suga blinks down at him, then grins. 

Daichi tilts his head up and Suga leans down to meet him with a pleased sound. They somehow make it to the bedroom with no one getting dropped on their ass, although Daichi does toss Suga onto the mattress, just because he wants to see the way the skirt flips up when he bounces. The shiny white of the heel catches the light from the streetlight through the window, and Daichi’s attention is on the heels again in an instant. Even laying down, the shoes make his legs a wonder to behold, and Daichi succumbs to his original desire. 

He carefully grabs Suga’s foot and kisses his ankle, right over one of the straps. Daichi is aware of Suga watching him, eyes lidded and dark in the dim light of the bedroom, as he kisses his way up his calf. He resists the urge to do anything other than soft kisses until he reaches his knee. Just above it, however, Daichi presses his teeth into the soft flesh there. Locking gazes with Suga, Daichi puts his mouth to the same spot and sucks, gently, silently asking for permission to leave a mark. Several marks. Daichi will spend all night on Suga’s legs if he’d let him. 

Slowly, eyes never leaving his, Suga nods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( alternate endings include Actual Sin(tm), suga making a remark about oikawa being right about daichi having a sudden interest in heels & daichi never living it down, and sunshine jumping up on the bed & ruining the night ))


	30. yamaguchi: the evil santa one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki, daisuga  
> rating: t for some swearing/blood  
> summary: Yamaguchi and Suga deal with a Kraumpus.

“Evil…  _Santa_?” Tadashi repeats in confusion, head cocked to the side. 

Suga hardly looks up at him while he tries to sort through his pile of papers. “Well, they’re only  _slightly_  related. It’s technically a Krampus, or…  _the_  Krampus? I don’t want to deal with  _the_  Krampus, ugh…” 

“But it’s like an evil Santa.” 

“Sort of. Saint Nicholas supposedly rewards good children, and the Krampus was the one who punished bad kids. The original Saint Nick was probably just some particularly kind fairy or fae, but I’m not sure what a Krampus is supposed to be. I  _really_  hope we’re not dealing with more demons,” Suga groans, and finally finds the paper he’s looking for. He holds it up with a triumphant cry. “Banishment charm!” 

“I already know how to banish things,” Tadashi flatly points out. Honestly, he’s still trying to process an evil Santa Claus. Weren’t bad kids supposed to get coal? Was the Krampus the one who brought that?  _Wait, does this fucking mean Santa was real?!_  Alright, so he’ll have to imagine Santa with fairy wings from now on, but  _there’s_  a revelation. He can’t wait to tell Kei. 

“Provided this Krampus isn’t a demon, it’s probably a higher spirit, so this is a higher-level charm. …Which means  _you’re_  going to have to do it,” Suga says, reluctantly, scanning the paper. He looks like he’d rather yank his own teeth out than pass it over, but he does, and Tadashi looks over the now-familiar old notes of Yui. 

“If it  _is_  a demon—?” 

“No, I’ll handle it if it’s a demon,” Suga cuts in. 

Tadashi pouts. “I’m going to have to learn how to take care of them eventually.” 

“Eventually, maybe, but I’m putting that day off as long as possible. Once  _you_  know how to defeat demons, then  _Kei_  is going to know, and if he threatens Kuroo with anything more specific I think Kenma is going to banish him.” 

Kenma usually stays out of their bickering, provided Kuroo doesn’t drag him into it, but ever since Kei started pretending to be an angel again to scare the demon, Kenma has been stepping in more and more. Tadashi sucks his teeth, guiltily, then mumbles, “Kuroo started it.” 

“Kuroo talks shit and you both know it. The last thing we need is for Kenma to be aware that either of you know how to properly banish or kill demons.” 

“But what if I run into one and you and Kenma aren’t here?!” 

Suga grimaces, pats Tadashi’s shoulder, and tells him, “We’ll test your luck again then.  _But_! There hasn’t been a full demon summoning in this city since Kuroo, so I’m sure that won’t happen again for awhile!“ 

Tadashi wishes Suga would stop saying stuff like that. Sometimes, he isn’t fully convinced that the man’s luck is neutral. 

 

\--

 

“That looks like a fucking mall Santa,” Tadashi hisses. Suga, shoulders shaking, tries to muffle his laughter with his scarf, although he does a rather poor job of it. 

The figure wandering the parking lot is dressed in the characteristic Santa uniform, complete with hat and shiny black boots, although even from this distance they can see a few tears and holes in its clothing. Tadashi thinks it could be male, but they’re a little too far to tell, and the figure is mostly facing away from them as it weaves and stumbles like it’s drunk. 

So Suga was worried over a drunk, hobo mall Santa. Not the first time he’s fretted over nothing—Tadashi himself is guilty of that as well—but it’s been a few months before anything really  _bad_  has happened. Tadashi had kind of supposed that they’re due for another disaster of a job. (He has Daichi, Ryuu, and Kenma on speed dial by now.) 

“A-Alright, so it’s probably some sort of…” Suga trails off, then shrugs. The two straighten, just a little, from behind their bush cover, and Suga scans the area again for any sign of other people. It’s nearing midnight and they’re in the parking lot of the abandoned mall, but they’ve had unlucky bystanders get caught up in things before. But it looks like they’re alone this evening. Good. Suga runs his hand back through his hair, then tugs his scarf back up around his face. “I know this one isn’t some lost spirit, and it looks corporeal from here. I’ll go approach it and see if it talks, and you stay here—”

“This is a dumb idea,” Tadashi warns, frowning up at Suga, but Suga only shrugs. “Daichi told me to make you stop using yourself as bait.” 

Suga gives a guilty start at that. “But the alternative is using  _you_. And I can’t let my cute student get into even  _more_  trouble than he already gets into,” he says, patting Tadashi’s cheek, and Tadashi’s frown drops into a proper sulk. 

“That thing thinks it’s a Santa, right? Then shouldn’t the  _kid_  do it? I could tell it what I want for Christmas and sit on it or something.” 

“Tadashi, you are six feet plus of noodly limbs and I don’t  _care_  how much baby fat you have,” Suga says, this time pinching his cheek, “you still don’t look young enough to distract a fake Santa. Also, it’s February.” 

“Tell that to it!” Tadashi says, mad that his face feels hotter, and he rubs his cheek. He’s getting rid of the baby fat, okay. It’s a slow process and he’s just round-faced. “I have more magic to use. I’m telling Daichi if you go get curbstomped by that thing.” 

“I have  _better_  magic to use. And he’d be just as mad if you got yourself hurt, too.”

“…Rock paper scissors?” 

Suga rolls his eyes but holds out his hands. 

 

\--

 

“So, as it turns out, Krampuses are a thing,” Suga announces, rocking back in his seat, and grimaces as Daichi presses the antiseptic-soaked cotton against the gash on his temple. 

“Plural,” Tadashi chimes in. 

“Because you both got jumped,” Kei says thinly. Tadashi nods, chuckling, and Kei’s glare sours further. 

“But as it turns out, demonic banishment works on them! I’m not sure what they are, but maybe I can— _ow_!” Suga cuts off with a  _yip_  as Daichi presses a little more firmly against the cut. “Okay, okay,  _someone else_  can examine the bodies.” 

“I thought you said you banished them,” Daichi says. 

“ _I_  don’t know any spells to banish demons,” Tadashi replies pointedly. 

“So you beat up a lot of evil Santas. And left their bodies behind—”

“As a warning to any others!” Tadashi finishes. “And we sort of had to get back here…” 

“Head wounds bleed a lot—I’m  _fine_ ,” Suga replies. He flinches again at Daichi’s rough treatment, then flops against his boyfriend with a heavy sigh. “The important thing is that we’re both okay—”

“Head wounds are not  _okay_ , Suga,” Daichi nearly growls. 

“—and those things aren’t around to hurt anybody else!” And, as always, Daichi cannot argue with that point, so he lets the matter drop. And, as always, it’s by about this point that those two get sappy and touchy with each other as Suga reassures Daichi and it’s all very sweet and affectionate and  _ugh_  Tadashi wants to gag. The first couple of times it had been totally cute and endearing to see those two. The novelty wore off. Rapidly.

“I think it’s time for us to head out!” he says loudly, standing despite the way it makes him a little dizzy. Kei’s hand comes up to rest on the small of his back to steady him. 

Suga blows a raspberry at Tadashi for his obvious escape. Tadashi blows one right back. 

“ _Children_ ,” Daichi sighs. 

“See,  _he_  still thinks I’m a kid!” 

Kei starts steering Tadashi out while Tadashi and Suga laugh at each other over their boyfriends’ annoyance. But he moves his hand from Tadashi’s back to intertwine their fingers once the door shuts behind them. 

Tadashi doesn’t ask why Kei doesn’t fawn over him like Daichi does post-jobs (especially post-messy-jobs), because this is enough for him. It’s not so saccharine that it makes him roll his eyes. …Even if maybe a little more babying would be nice from time to time. But just as quickly as the thought comes, Tadashi snorts at it, because Kei acting as a worried mother hen is a  _hilarious_  concept. 

“So, I saw most of the runes Suga used for a demonic banishment,” Tadashi says casually. Kei makes a noncommittal sound first, then looks down at him with realization in his gold eyes. Tadashi grins up at him. “But I’m not telling you them unless you  _promise_  me that you won’t torment Kuroo with them.” 

“ _He_  is the one who torments  _me_ ,” Kei corrects. 

“Hm, maybe I’ll keep them to myself, then.” 

“Yamaguchi—” 

“For a kiss and some fawning,” Tadashi quickly interrupts. Kei stares at him. Tadashi sighs, squeezes his hand, and explains, “You’re always so chill about me risking my life and getting into trouble with Suga.” 

“You  _know_  I worry.” 

“I do.” 

“…I have a different sense of trouble, anyway,” Kei reluctantly adds, sour-faced, “I died, Yamaguchi. And you hang out with someone who’s died  _several_  times. I’ll try to remember that you’re a little more fragile than the rest of us.” 

“I’m not fragile! That’s not where I was going with that and you know it.” 

“When we get home, I’ll make you soup and tuck you into bed,” Kei says, smirking now, and presses a kiss to Tadashi’s dark hair. Tadashi huffs and tries not to be pleased with that small affection. Kei is definitely not getting those runes now. 


	31. kenma: the lost one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( fight-o, satan! i guess now your sons are actually properly in the bbacverse… ))
> 
> pairing: kuroken, kyouhaba if you squint _a lot_  
>  rating: t probably as usual  
> summary: Kenma gets lost in the goblin market. But at least he makes a new friend in the process.

“…Hm,” Kenma says as he finally looks up from his phone. He’s alone. Lost. And his phone’s battery is dying. The last time he’d tried to recharge his phone himself with a mixture of technomancy and magic static, he’d ended up frying it. And, he reasons, even if he  _did_  waste his last bits of energy trying to open up his gps, he’s not even in the human realm right now. He doubts he’d get much map information in the goblin market. 

But this is a finite space, so he can’t be  _too_  lost, right? 

Kenma sighs. Things were easier when he and Kuro could sense each other with their contract. 

He’s still in the city within the market, but this looks more… residential? He hadn’t known people  _lived_  here. But, by the look of the empty windows and lack of traffic, maybe not many. He’s not sure he ought to start knocking on doors; who knows who’s friendly toward human witches around here. 

Kuro, Akaashi, and Bokuto were all in the goblin market today—even if the tengu were just manning their stall—and he’s still off on his own. Kenma closes out of  _neko atsume_ and turns off his phone. 

He wanders up and down a couple streets, looking for signs, but the only ones he finds aren’t in any language he can read. He makes a magic compass, but what good does knowing where north is do him when he’s not sure where he is?  _Back when we were still contracted, he would have found me by now_ , Kenma thinks, sourly, and keeps walking. 

The buildings temporarily break up in favor of some small plots of land. Most of them have crops growing in them, things Kenma can’t even begin to identify, but the pair of kinnara standing in the water of a rice field like herons eye him distrustfully, so he doesn’t linger. Kenma does a loop around the fields and wanders back toward the buildings again. 

He passes what he supposes is a small park, although the only real park-like things about it are the trees and a single bench, but it can’t be another field. His feet hurt, and he’s beginning to get frustrated, and he  _really_ wishes Kuro would just hurry up and find him, so he sits down on the bench with a heavy  _whump_. 

Kenma gets to relax for approximately three and a half seconds before he realizes that someone is sitting in the tree directly above his bench. 

Kenma and the stranger stare at one another, both of them about the same level of startled. The person in the tree is a man, humanoid, with close-cropped blond hair with two dyed stripes circling the back of his head, a sharp stare, and a raised silver knife in his hand. Being with Kuro and the tengu for so long has dulled Kenma’s senses, but he’s sure he can detect magic on this man. 

He sees the warded sheath for the knife strapped to the man’s belt, next to a little pouch of what Kenma supposes are other weapons. He’s familiar enough with the man’s wary aura and his default weapon choice to tentatively ask, “Are you a hunter?” 

Slowly, the man nods. He puts his knife away, still on guard, but less tense than before. “Are you a witch? You smell like a lot of magic.” 

“Yes.” 

“…You know any finding spells?” 

Kenma wrinkles his nose.  _Great, he’s lost too_. “Um, no, I don’t. Can’t hunters track stuff…?” 

The man snorts and drops down from the tree with an unusual amount of grace and nods down at the bench. Kenma scoots over to make room and they both sit there, lost but at least not alone anymore. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, to Kenma’s pleasant surprise, and then, to Kenma’s even greater interest, the man pulls out his phone. 

And he opens up  _boku to wanko_. 

Kenma can’t help but hover over his shoulder, looking at the dogs in his yard, jealous of his working phone and how many dogs he has. The man glances back at him but lets him watch as he takes pictures of the dogs and renames one of the new ones. Only after he checks the app does he open up his messages. Kenma sees a few “ _where are you_ ” types with increasing annoyance and hopefully concern, all from the same person. 

The witch sits back in his own spot on the bench, not wanting to pry, but a little irritated that this guy is about to be Not Lost and Kenma’s still stuck being Lost. 

The man’s backup arrives not five minutes later in the form of a panting, irritated man who stomps right up to him and cuffs him upside the head. “Where do you get off just wandering off?!” he demands, then blinks as he registers Kenma’s presence. “And who’s this?” 

Kenma regards him, already shying away, not sure if he trusts that kind of first impression. This guy, too, gives off the impression of hunter. Which is familiar and good in the sense that they probably won’t kill him—most monster hunters don’t bother with human witches—but also very,  _very_  bad because as far as Kenma knows, he has a demon who’s trying to find him right now. 

“He’s lost,” the blond man says simply. “Let’s take him back to the main market with us.” 

“But who  _is_  he?” 

“Kenma,” he finally pipes up with a nervous fidget. Who knows how long it would take Kuro to find him on his own? This could be a good chance. If nothing else, he could find the tengu stall again. 

“Kozume?” the second man asks, and Kenma tries not to flinch. 

 _How does he know who I am?_  He’s very sure he’s never met this man before. But he nods, just a little. Even if they’re magic, and even if they’re not human—Kenma still isn’t certain, to be honest—Kenma is sure he can at least win magically against the both of them. Probably. 

“You’re the one who bought that cursed thing off of Oikawa, right?” the second man asks with a tilt of his head. Kenma relaxes and tries not to let it show. He’s about to nod again, because that’s a very safe, if odd, connection to admit to, when the second guy gestures to Kenma and nudges the first guy. “He’s the one with the demon contracted to him.” 

Kenma is about to knock them both out with a sleep spell and high tail it out of there, but the first guy just scowls and asks, “ _So_?” There’s a surprising, defensive bite to his words. 

And the second man just laughs. Kenma doesn’t quite believe his laugh, but it’s not a mean one, at any rate. “Okay, well. Kozume, I’m Yahaba and this is Kyoutani. We’ll be your escorts for this evening, so please don’t make your demon eat us.” 

“O… kay…” Kenma isn’t sure what to make of them. Kyoutani, he trusts a little bit more, but they’re both just a little bit  _off_  and he really wishes he could place what sort of magic hangs off them like a dark cloud. With both of them side-by-side before him, the smell is stronger, somewhat familiar but not quite  _normal_. 

But still, he follows them. 

At first, he follows behind them, staring down at his shoes and fiddling with his dead phone in his hoodie pocket, but soon Kyoutani drops back to walk beside him, and that tugs Yahaba back with him, too. Kenma isn’t sure what to make of that, either, but he doesn’t mind it so much when Kyoutani wordlessly takes out his phone once more, opens the dog app up again, and starts showing Kenma the dog pictures he’s taken. 

“Oh, so you’re bonding over  _dogs_?” Yahaba asks, tone pointed, but amusement clear. He makes it sound like it’s a big, obvious joke. If it is, Kenma doesn’t get it. 

“Where do you get the name ideas from?” Kenma asks quietly. 

“Just… things, I guess.” 

“He gets them from his patients. He only came up with one name in that whole game,” Yahaba answers for him. Kyoutani’s head snaps around to glare at him, and Kenma is pretty sure he can see that the man is blushing. 

“Patients?” Kenma echoes. 

Kyoutani’s flush darkens further. With a growl, he closes the app, jams it back into his pocket, and glowers at Yahaba like he’s  _daring_  him to continue. Yahaba, with another weird, light laugh, answers anyway. “Day job is a vet. What do you do, Kozume?” 

“Um…” He’d sooner bite off his tongue than tell them he’s a spellwriter. ‘Witch’ isn’t really a career path, either. “I’m… between jobs.” 

“Huh. Unemployed, human witch, hm?” 

“Stop being an ass,” Kyoutani says, rather gruffly.

“I’m only asking about your new friend.” 

“ _Stop being an ass_ ,” Kyoutani repeats. 

“I work with the tengu sometimes,” Kenma finally replies, a little defensively, and fiddles with his sleeves again. Yahaba makes a thoughtful sound and falls silent. 

By now, at least, Kenma  _almost_  thinks he can recognize where he is. It’s more shops than houses, at least, so they’re probably getting close to the main market once more. He doesn’t particularly mind their company, and he appreciates the help, even if he’s not sure about what they want or what they  _are_. 

And then, with a joyous shout of “ _Kenma_!”, all other thoughts are tossed out the window. Kenma is scooped up by an overly enthusiastic demon and for a moment, Kenma just flops around in his arms as Kuro squeezes and nuzzles and murmurs his concern. Then, Kuro notices the other two, and without setting Kenma down, he shifts so that he’s between them as he asks, “Friends of yours, Kenma?” 

“They helped me find my way back.” 

“Ooh, you must be the demon,” Yahaba says with a falsely surprised blink. Kuro tenses and his eyes narrow. Kenma frees an arm in order to pat Kuro’s shoulder, motioning for him to let him down, and he tugs him aside so he’s not so obviously standing in front of Kenma anymore. 

“I won’t let him eat you both. Since you escorted me,” Kenma tells them flatly. Kyoutani nods and Yahaba chuckles. 

“We better get going, but good luck finding a job, you two!” 

“…Bye.” 

Yahaba waves and Kyoutani just nods again at them, and all things considered, it’s a pretty fast retreat from Kuro. The demon, for his part, keeps a tight hold on Kenma until they’re well out of sight, and then begins steering him back towards the market proper with an uncharacteristic frown on his face. 

“So, what were they?” Kenma asks, because he’s curious about what spooked Kuro. 

“Inugami and a human,” he replies with another glance back over his shoulder. 

 _Inugami…_  Those deal with black magic, Kenma is pretty sure. So that explains the almost-familiar sense of the magic with them. 

“Why do you need a job? Do  _I_  need a job?” Kuro asks, changing the subject, and it’s Kenma’s turn to frown. 

“No. They were just teasing.” Kuro's last idea of a job had involved trying to babysit a pair of baby kelpie. He'd come home bleeding and smelling strongly of rotting fish.

They arrive back at the tengu stall without further mishap. Kuro sits Kenma down between Akaashi and Bokuto, accidentally interrupting an elderly witch who is trying to buy down from Akaashi. Akaashi shoots them an irritated look; Kuro and Bokuto make puppy dog eyes at them in apology while Kenma quietly steals Bokuto’s phone and opens up the gameboy emulator he’d downloaded onto it. 

“Where did you end up?” Akaashi asks once the old witch departs. They do a quick once-over of Kenma, then nod to themselves, satisfied. “Kuroo said he lost you.” 

“Kenma made new friends,” Kuro replies unhappily. 

“They were hunters,” Kenma adds, eyes on the phone. “…Kyoutani was nice. For an inugami. He works as a vet.” 

“An inugami hunter?” Bokuto asks with obvious surprise. 

“I guess so.” 

“A  _vet_?” 

“Veterinarian,” Akaashi corrects tonelessly as they look through their receipt book. 

“Oh,” Bokuto says, drooping. 

“You’d think the animals would be scared of him,” Kuro says, and Kenma shrugs. “But I guess he was friendly enough. Or he could fake it.” 

Kenma pauses, then looks up at the demon. “… _Yahaba_  was the one you spoke to.” 

Kuro blinks back at him. “Oh. That one was the inugami. Wait, a human as a vet makes a lot more sense! I bet he doesn’t scare all of the animals.” 

Kenma returns to his game.  _Huh_. 

 

\--

 

It’s been a week since Kentarou met Kenma, and he hadn’t expected to ever see the tiny witch again. Yet here he is, a big cat in his arms, standing in front of the counter at the animal hospital like he visits all the time. “You sell cat vitamins, right?” Kenma asks over dogs in the waiting room barking at him. His cat doesn’t look at all bothered by the noise. 

Kentarou nods, slowly, surprised and confused. 

“I need cat vitamins, then,” Kenma says, raising his voice just a little to be heard over all the dogs. He hefts the cat in his arms. 

A sleek, greyish dog jumps onto the counter between them and Kenma’s cat finally reacts, laying its ears back flat along its skull. Yahaba smiles and drops the bottle of vitamins he’d had in his mouth on the counter. “Here you go, Kozume.” 

“Doesn’t he upset the animals?” Kenma asks. He doesn’t seem very surprised to see Yahaba like that, but Kentarou figures he’s a smart guy. It’s not like Yahaba keeps it a secret. Fucking spirits. 

“We have a hellhound in surgery and a clutch of phoenixes in the back.  _I’m_  not really a concern here. I think the demon in your shadow is the main issue with our other patients today.” 

Kuro raises his head enough to stick his tongue out at the both of them. 

“Don’t be rude to the customer,” Kentarou snaps and prods at Yahaba’s hind leg. “And I  _told_  you not to get on the fuckin’ counter like that. You’re as bad as the puppies here.” 

Yahaba allows himself to be scooted off of the counter with a sigh. Kenma sets his cat on the counter while he pays for the vitamins, and Kentarou scratches it behind the ears, making it purr. He catches Kenma smiling as he scoops his cat back up to leave. 


	32. yamatsukki: the sick one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki  
> rating: t for swearing and snot  
> summary: Two teenage boys take care of each other while they're both sick. (As in, they really don't, but lord do they try.)

“This is hell,” Kei rasps, then coughs into a tissue. “I didn’t ask to be able to catch fucking  _colds_  again.” 

Tadashi just groans weakly from his face-down position on the couch. 

“Do you want any soup?” Kei asks and receives another groan. The spirit rolls his eyes, hugs his fleece blanket tighter around his shoulders, and ladles up another bowl for Tadashi. He shuffles over, sets the offering on the coffee table in front of the couch, goes back to retrieve his own bowl, and shuffles over once more. Tadashi hasn’t stirred. 

Kei prods him, and he manages to move his legs enough for Kei to sit on the other end of the couch, but that’s about it. He sets down his soup, too, so he can poke at Tadashi again. Another muffled groan. 

“You should eat,” Kei hoarsely tells him. Tadashi replies with a cough. Kei sighs, coughs himself, then lays down. He ends up half on top of Tadashi and half behind him, and Tadashi scoots over, just enough to let him spoon up behind him. Tadashi is still fever-hot, but he feels wonderfully warm to Kei’s chilliness. 

Neither of them end up touching their soup; the boys fall asleep together, curled up on the cramped couch, and they don’t wake until Kei starts sneezing luck and snot into Tadashi’s hair. By then, at least, Tadashi seems a little more conscious, or at least awake enough to give Kei an annoyed look before trudging off to shower. 

Kei shuffles in after him, blanket still wrapped around himself like a cape, and mutely makes sad eyes that gives him enough plausible deniability about begging to be let into the hot shower to let his pride be spared. (Because walking around the apartment swaddled in a fuzzy bumble bee pattern blanket in a vain attempt to stop his shivering is bad enough.) 

“C’mon,” Tadashi finally says, as steam is starting to fill the bathroom. He tilts the showerhead away from the sliding glass door and Kei strips as fast as possible to slide in beside him. Tadashi ducks his head under the spray again to rinse out his hair, then, with some awkward movements, he manages to trade places with Kei so he can stand under the water directly and sigh. 

Tadashi sits down behind him and Kei stops the drain with his foot, letting the tub fill. The steam is really starting to collect in the little bathroom now, and the moisture feels like heaven to Kei’s sore throat. He can hear Tadashi trying to breathe through his stuffed nose. (He doesn’t sound particularly successfully and eventually lapses into a coughing fit.) 

Once the water is ankle-deep, Kei sits down in it as well, his back to Tadashi’s chest. He’s beginning to feel warmer, although he’s still in the clammy stage, and Tadashi’s solid warmth against his back is steadying. Kei lets his head loll back against Tadashi’s shoulder and he closes his eyes. Tadashi shifts beneath him, first to adjust the leg pressed between Kei’s hip and the shower wall, then to try to grab the shower gel from the shelf. He can’t snag it, but Kei can, and he hands it back to him. 

Tadashi just dumps it into the warm water between their legs. “I don’t have the energy to scrub,” he explains. “This counts as getting clean, right?” 

“Good enough for me,” Kei replies. 

Bubbles start forming in little mounds by their feet. It counts as cleanliness. Tadashi wiggles his leg again, and Kei shifts, trying to give him more room, but it’s not like there’s much to spare between the two of them. 

Still, he’s the less sick between the two (despite his moaning and groaning), and he had really only been in here for the heat. “Do you need me to move?” he asks, reluctance clear and heavy in his words, but it still counts as an offer. 

“My leg was just falling asleep. You’re fine,” Tadashi tells him. So Kei is free to continue leeching his warmth, good, and they can be sick and pathetic together for a little while longer. How touching. 

Well, it’s touching until Tadashi blows his nose into his hand and reaches across Kei’s shoulders to rinse it off in the shower spray, anyway. 

“That was  _disgusting_.” 

“I can breathe again,” Tadashi answers, pleased, and though he still sounds congested, there’s a noticeable improvement. 

“We’re in a  _bath_ , Yamaguchi,” Kei says thinly. “That’s going to stick in here with us.” 

“You sneezed on me earlier. Sorry, Tsukki, but I’m too tired to care right now,” he replies. Tadashi rests his cheek on Kei’s shoulder and yawns. “We need to get a bigger bathroom. I want a big tub I can nap in…” 

“Start saving up, then.” 

“First I want to avoid death by pneumonia.” 

“This is just a cold, Yamaguchi.” 

“Tell that to my sinuses.” 


	33. kenma: the slow-dancing one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied kuroken  
> rating: probably pg  
> summary: Kenma doesn't want to dance, even with two eager teachers. He probably just needs the proper partner.

“What are you doing?” Kenma asks. Kuro and Lev both freeze with nearly identical guilty expressions. 

“It’s… a box?” Lev asks, eyes skating sideways like he thinks this is a trick question. 

“You’re… teaching him to dance.” 

“I needed to practice! You don’t like dancing, but I need to practice for Yaku, and Kuro volunteered!” Lev exclaims defensively, remorselessly throwing everyone else under the bus, as per usual. 

Kenma isn’t sure about why Lev needs to practice for a cat spirit. He’s also not sure how much Kuro  _volunteered_  versus how much he was dragged into it by an overenthusiastic Russian. “Why do you have to do this here?” 

“Want to learn with us?” Kuro asks. 

“Not really.” 

“Told you he wouldn’t.”

“Ken _maaaa_ , please?” Kuro whines, using that tone of voice that positively grates on Kenma’s nerves. Kenma shakes his head, stubbornness only increasing out of spite by that point. “I won’t tell Akaashi that it was  _your_  familiar that ate their plants!” 

Kenma nearly gasps out of sheer insult.  _Kuro is threatening to_ snitch _?_   He’s not sure where he got the idea—or how the hell he knew it was their cat. It could have been anyone’s cat. They have wild cats in the tengu realm, right? “You wouldn’t,” Kenma says, eyes narrowed, calling his bluff. 

Kuro valiantly tries to return his squint, but ends up failing and pursing his lips instead. “Alright, fine, I won’t tell.” Probably because Kuro had been the one who was supposed to have been watching the cat. They’d both get in trouble for that one. 

“I’ll tell Aunt Masha that we still talk and where you are!” Lev volunteers. 

“ _You’ll_  get into trouble with that!” Kenma exclaims, exasperated. Where were they both getting all of this sudden blackmail from? And why were they both so  _bad_  at it? “…Why do you two want me to practice with you? You can’t dance with three people.” 

“I want to dance with Kenma instead! You’re shorter so you’d be more like Yaku as a follower,” Lev replies easily. Kuro gives him an annoyed look that Lev doesn’t notice. 

“ _I_  should get to dance with Kenma!” 

“It was my idea! And you don’t know how to dance.” 

“I want to learn with him!” 

“I’ll dance with you,” Kenma interrupts, and they turn to him once more with matching expressions, this time of surprised joy. Kenma turns, picks up the napping cat from the couch cushion, and holds her out. “This will be my partner.” 

Lev laughs; Kuro looks dejected. Kenma, his familiar in his arms, follows them through the movements, so no one has any room to complain. 


	34. kuroken: the pillow fort one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: g for cuteness  
> summary: Kenma and Kuroo share their first blanket fort experience.

Kenma makes sure he has his phone and 3ds chargers before declaring the pillow fort construction completed. It had been a rather ambitious project, utilizing the couch, all of his pillows, almost all of his blankets, a string of holiday lights, and at least two cases of magic to make sure things stayed upright, but it’s done, and it looks really nice. Cozy. 

Handheld and game: check. Phone: check. Chargers: check. Extra flashlight: check. Extra blankets on the bottom for softness: check. Kenma reties his hair and can’t help but smile, proud of himself. This is the best blanket fort he’s ever made. 

Alright, it’s the  _only_  blanket fort he’s ever made, but it still looks nice. 

One last thing missing, then. 

Kenma goes into the bedroom and fetches Kuro. He’d been napping and is still groggy as he follows Kenma out into the living room, but his sleepy blinking slowly turns into starry-eyed awe as he processes the fort set up there. “Is this why you came and stole all of the blankets?” Kuro asks, crouching down as he inspects it. Kenma nods. “This is… This looks really neat.” 

“Get in.” 

“Will we both fit?” 

It’s painfully obvious that Kuro doesn’t understand how pillow forts work. “ _Yes_ ,” Kenma says, then makes a shooing motion. Kuro lifts the front flap of the tent a little more and peers inside; Kenma pushes him until he nearly falls face-first into it. Kuro has little choice but to clamber inside. Kenma quickly crawls in after him, and Kuro arranges himself on one side, cross-legged and blinking up at the lights hanging from the top of it. 

“Do humans make this often? Why haven’t we made these more?” Kuro asks. 

Kenma just shrugs. “We made one now.” He motions to Kuro to lay down next to him, and the demon happily complies, needing no further encouragement to snuggle up beside him. Kenma turns on his 3ds and taps on the Pokemon X icon. “We can nap, or I could get you a book, or we could continue with that nuzlocke,” he tells him. 

“Nuzlocke,” Kuro replies. 

Kenma nods, sets the 3ds in front of them both, and hands the stylus over to Kuro. Kuro loads up their game and runs around in circles inside the Pokemon Center while Kenma gets comfortable; once they’re both ready, they take turns actually playing the game, while the other directs what to do next. 

They play for a few hours, surprisingly, catching a couple new team members and only losing one in a gym battle, and it’s only their grumbling stomachs that ruin the mood of the blanket fort. Kenma would be perfectly fine just playing until he falls asleep for the night—he’s done that more than a few times before in his life—but Kuro’s disapproving stare has weight and it’s not worth it to argue. 

They make macaroni out of the box together (one of the few things Kuro can reliably help with), and it feels  _cold_  outside the cushion of the blanket fort. But with food made, they quickly duck back inside and the sense of comfort returns. Kenma starts up netflix and Kuro scrolls through choices while they both eat. 

Two episodes of  _Too Cute_  later, the food is gone, they’re both full and drowsy again, and Kenma quietly remarks, “We could sleep out here, if you’d like.” 

Kuro chuckles, a warm, gravelly sound, and presses closer to Kenma. “Of course we can.” 

They rearrange the pillows into something a little more comfortable and rather reminiscent of the nests in the tengu realm. And it takes them no time at all to nestle back into each other, content like cats, with Kuro wrapped around Kenma and Kenma’s head tucked beneath his chin. 

Kenma is just beginning to doze off when Kuro asks, “What  _else_  can you do in a blanket fort?” 

“Go to sleep, Kuro.” 

“For future reference.” 

“Tomorrow.  _Goodnight_ , Kuro.” 

“Goodnight, Kenma,” Kuro says in a sleepy sigh with a smile in his voice. 


	35. kuroken: the reverse au sin one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( this is part of the [reverse au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4643226/chapters/10590717)—so kuroo and kenma have swapped story roles. and then this happened. i don't know; don't look at me /)////(\ ))
> 
> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: e for… smut… happy new year…  
> summary: Kenma pushes, for once, and Tetsurou gladly gives in.

It’s rare that Kenma initiates things, but it’s certainly not unwelcome. Yet even rarer are the moments like these, when Kenma _pushes_. This is not the shy or chaste little pecks Kenma gives him when he’s being cute or cuddly. This is certainly not the way he is with Bokuto or Akaashi. This is _hunger_. This is _force_ , and Tetsurou revels in the strength with which the demon pushes him up against the wall. 

“Can I help you?” Tetsurou asks when Kenma pulls away for a moment. Kenma doesn’t respond and Tetsurou feels a sharp tug on his hair. He tilts his head back, baring his throat, and Kenma sinks down to begin placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck. Tetsurou twitches at the first press of teeth against his skin. Usually Kenma isn’t so indulgent. “Is it my birthday? Full moon or something?” And he’s proud to say that his voice only has the smallest tremor to it. 

Kenma pulls away again, this time to fix Tetsurou with a flat, very unimpressed stare. Tetsurou belatedly remembers that it is, in fact, a full moon. “Will you stop talking?” Kenma asks, and his voice is half an octave lower and a million times rougher than usual. Tetsurou has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak again. 

“Are you going to make me?” he asks in return. 

Kenma isn’t going to stand for the challenge. Tetsurou’s lips part again as he licks them, and next thing he knows, Kenma yanks up the bottom hem of his shirt and shoves it into his mouth. Tetsurou rears back, tongue working against the shirt-covered fingers, but the grip on his hair keeps him still enough. 

“Keep your shirt up,” Kenma orders like _he’s_  the one used to giving them. He pulls his hand free, leaving the fabric bunched up in Tetsurou’s mouth, and the witch nods only because of the way Kenma is eyeing his sports bra. 

The shadowy tendrils tangled in his hair relax their grip, just a bit, and Tetsurou lets out a sigh through his nose. He lets out another, breathier one when Kenma’s hands splay across the bottom of his ribcage and slowly, glacially, move their way up. Tetsurou has half a mind to complain about Kenma’s extinguished spark of enthusiasm—only half, because Kenma mapping out his body like he’s memorizing it will _never_  get old—when his arms are shrugged off of Kenma’s shoulders and yanked roughly behind his back. 

Tetsurou arches an eyebrow and makes a questioning sound. Kenma doesn’t pay him any attention and instead ( _finally_ ) slips his fingers beneath the bottom of his bra. It tickles, for half a second, until he pushes it up and over Tetsurou’s breasts. Alright, so now he’s effectively shirtless and bound, and Kenma’s still looking at him like he wants to eat him. The witch can get behind this. Just to get Kenma moving again, Tetsurou pushes his chest out, arching his back and offering himself as best he can. 

He’s yanked back down against the wall not a moment later and Kenma’s expression briefly dips into annoyance. Tetsurou grins around the shirt in his mouth, and Kenma’s expression darkens further. He steps up onto the blackness beneath his feet until he’s about eye-level with the witch. “Do I,” he begins, and only wavers for a heartbeat, “need to _make_ you behave?” 

Tetsurou nods, maybe a touch too eagerly. 

Kenma moves the shirt enough out of his way to press a kiss to Tetsurou’s cheek. Sweet, if the opposite of what they’d been going for, but then Kenma is tilting Tetsurou’s head back again with his small hands and _biting_  on the exposed neck. Tetsurou groans through the fabric. _That’s_  more like it, and he can’t help but pull against his bonds, trying to push against Kenma while the demon sucks a bruise onto a spot just beneath the bite. And then he’s pressing his teeth in again, one hand leaving Tetsurou’s hair to rub at his chest, and Tetsurou is actively fighting against the shadows keeping him against the wall. 

Kenma can’t keep headed downward with the shirt in the way, so he pulls away with a contemplative look. Tetsurou wants to suggest ditching the shirt entirely, since he’s really starting to drool onto the fabric and that’s gross, but Kenma, as if reading his mind, just pulls his head back by the hair again. “Spread your legs,” Kenma murmurs. It’s more of a warning than a request; Tetsurou feels himself tugged downward by his caught arms while Kenma nudges his legs apart with his own. 

Kenma resumes the kissing, trailing down his sternum and conveniently out of sight from Tetsurou’s limited vision. He lets his eyes slide shut, concentrating— _savoring—_ the feel of Kenma’s little mouth on him. Those plush lips, hiding the sharp teeth Tetsurou loves so much, and then his _tongue—_

Said tongue suddenly laves over one of his nipples. Tetsurou strains forward again with a sharp inhale, but Kenma’s hold is solid. Kenma drags his nails down Tetsurou’s other breast, light and teasing and avoiding his nipple because Kenma can be an asshole at times, and Tetsurou is _really_  beginning to wish his legs weren’t spread. He needs friction and what feels like halfway down into the splits is pretty much the total opposite of that. 

Kenma switches breasts, nipping his way across Tetsurou’s sternum to the soft flesh, and Tetsurou’s hips jump forward when he begins sucking another bruise there. He would normally be thrilled about getting to walk around with these marks for the next few days, but he’s making a mess of his boxers right now, and Kenma is still being a huge tease, so he lets out an impatient growl. 

One of Kenma’s hands smooths down his side and comes to rest at his waist. Kenma snaps the elastic of Tetsurou’s sweats against his skin, timing it with a particularly hard suck, and Tetsurou arches again with a muffle curse. “ _Kenma—”_ he growls, through his shirt, and Kenma snaps his pants against him again. 

“These should come off now,” Kenma tells him, casually. Tetsurou nods as much as the grip on his hair will allow. 

Although he keeps his arms bound and head tilted back, Kenma releases Tetsurou’s legs in order to start tugging his sweatpants down. Tetsurou happily presses his legs together, disgusted by the wet mess in his boxers but fucking _thankful_  that at least he can ignore the growing throbbing there for two seconds. 

And then his legs are yanked back apart with a speed that unbalances him. “No,” Kenma tells him as Tetsurou _thumps_  against the wall, eyes wide. His legs aren’t quite as far apart as earlier, sweats about halfway down his thighs, wetness in his boxers already cooling again with exposure to the air. 

Tetsurou braces against the wall and juts his hips out with a whine. Kenma pushes him back with a huff. 

Downward vision impaired by the shirt, it takes the witch a moment to realize that Kenma has dropped to his knees in front of him. It isn’t until he’s lifting one of Tetsurou’s legs, tugging his pants down one leg at a time, that Tetsurou fights against the hold on his hair in order to look down at that particular view. It feels like he may have lost a handful of hair on that, but god, it’s worth it. 

Kenma leans against one of his legs, casually like Tetsurou’s just a wall to prop up against, while he contemplates the underwear in front of him. Tetsurou sucks in a breath when Kenma runs two fingers up over the damp fabric, far from firm enough to matter, but even that slight pressure is an improvement. 

Kenma, more careful this time, releases Tetsurou’s legs so he can pull down his boxers. Tetsurou is surprised when it doesn’t return to the prior position; Kenma just presses him against the wall, again, and adjusts so he’s seated between his feet. “Down,” Kenma commands. Tetsurou doesn’t get it until Kenma grabs his hips and starts tugging him downward. He almost spits out the shirt, concerned about the position and weight and _sweet fucking hell Kenma_ never _eats me out,_  but Kenma, in all his weird near-clairvoyance, just tells him, “I’ve got you.” 

So Tetsurou ends up braced against the wall, one thigh on either of Kenma’s shoulders, staring down expectantly at him while the demon avoids eye contact. The grip on his hair is gone now, letting him take in the view to his heart’s content, although the view would be a hell of a lot better if Kenma _did_  something other than stare at him. What happened to the half-feral beast from before? 

Kenma turns and presses a kiss to the inside of Tetsurou’s thigh. The witch nearly groans in exasperation and the back of his head hits the wall with a _thunk_. 

In that lapse of attention, Kenma tugs Tetsurou forward, both hands against the small of his back, and closes his mouth over Tetsurou’s clit. Tetsurou jumps, nearly shouts, because holy hell that went from zero to a hundred _real fucking fast_. Kenma sucks, gently, before pulling Tetsurou forward further and licking broad, wet stripes up him. Tetsurou isn’t quite sure whether to head _toward_  Kenma or shy away from the sudden pleasure, and sort of locks up for a moment while his body adjusts. 

But Kenma knows what he likes, and it isn’t long before he’s melting into the attention, using the wall behind him to push more against Kenma’s mouth. He wishes there were something in him, but with both of Kenma’s hands propping him up, his choices are demon tentacles or get off on clit action. With how fast he’s climbing and how content Kenma seems to sit there and lap at him, Tetsurou’s betting that he doesn’t get a choice in the matter. 

Kenma switches from suction to more slow, broad licks, then to little flicks of his tongue that has Tetsurou gasping and arching against him again. It isn’t very long before the shirt falls out of his mouth, but he doesn’t catch Kenma’s faintly exasperated expression. 

“Kenma,” Tetsurou gasps, voice going high and chest heaving. “Kenma, god, _yes,_ I—” He breaks off into a rough groan. He has a certain amount of leverage from the wall, but he’s been getting further and further from it, and now Kenma is supporting him more than it is. And he’s lost most of his movement, totally at the mercy of Kenma’s patience. 

But Kenma, shockingly, _doesn’t_  string him along or tease him further. He resumes sucking against him, alternating with perfect little flicks of his tongue, and Tetsurou wants to close his eyes and focus on that wondrous fucking feeling, but he wants to watch Kenma more than that. 

Tetsurou comes with a whine that may or may not have been Kenma’s name. Kenma supports him through it, continuing his ministrations, dragging out the orgasm until Tetsurou is nearly dizzy from it. The witch pants, hardly able to catch his breath, and Kenma slows his licking, but does not stop it. 

Tetsurou jerks from overstimulation, breath catching, and Kenma tightens his grip on him. He’s pretty sure he feels claws in the skin at the small of his back.

It is then that he realizes his mistake. 

“Kenma,” he begins, but has no idea how to end it, because Kenma is _still_  lapping at him and Tetsurou feels like he’s about to melt into a puddle. It’s _just_  shy of Not Too Much but god is it close, and his legs still feel trembly and twitchy and Kenma isn’t letting up. “Kenma, why,” Tetsurou forces out, breath catching again when Kenma sucks on his clit once more. 

Kenma just blinks up at him with that look he gives him when he thinks Tetsurou’s asked a stupid question. 

Oh boy. 

Tetsurou can’t help but moan, writhing against the shadows keeping his arms pinned, back nearly bowed. They’re probably in danger of falling altogether with all of his squirming, but Kenma keeps him stable and upright without any real signs of effort. Kenma keeps his tongue’s movements even, but it’s beginning to edge over into overstimulation, yet also a _great_  fucking build back up. He’s still not sure if he really wants more or if he wants a break to catch his breath. 

Kenma’s hands on his back shift, and Tetsurou is lifted slightly—only the tiniest reprieve before they settle again and Kenma is back to work. This time, Tetsurou can feel Kenma’s hands on his ass, smoothing down the backs of his thighs, and back up to his hips—it must be demon tentacles holding him up. Whatever works. Tetsurou is in the exact opposite of a place to complain when Kenma _finally_  slides a finger into him. 

The feeling drags another moan out of him, and Tetsurou is honestly startled at how wet he feels; Kenma’s mouth is at a little too much of an angle to really cover that much of him and now he’s worried he’s been dripping onto the carpet or something because he’s fucking _soaked_. 

Tetsurou becomes aware that he’s breathlessly chanting Kenma’s name about the time that Kenma pushes another finger into him. It’s perfect—it’s too much, too fast—it’s _not fucking enough—_ Tetsurou wants to fuck himself down on Kenma’s fingers but he still can hardly move, so he’s left with Kenma’s tempo. 

But, as always, Kenma knows what he’s doing. And right now, he’s very effectively turning Tetsurou into jelly. “R-Right there, please, _god_  please Kenma,” Tetsurou babbles. His voice is a breathy moan, catchy every other syllable with a crook of Kenma’s fingers, and this time, Tetsurou can’t keep his eyes open. He squeezes them shut and bites his lip to try to muffle the sound he knows is coming. 

His second orgasm is louder; he doesn’t completely muffle the groan that feels like it’s _pulled_  from his lungs. Tetsurou comes down, panting and throat feeling raw, and feels a momentary stab of terror that _this_  was all Kenma’s plan for the evening. He’s certain he’s not going to last another orgasm like this. He’s going to expire. Cause of death: demon, just like everyone kept warning him. 

But Kenma draws away. He looks up at Tetsurou, mouth shiny and lips red, and Tetsurou’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. After a beat, Kenma pulls his fingers out, too, and Tetsurou gives another little twitch of overstimulation. 

Before the witch can say something like _wow thanks_  or _are you trying to kill me_  or  _let’s do that again in a few hours when I’m not about to pass out_ , Kenma lowers him gently and speaks up, “Stand up and face the wall.” 

Tetsurou first has to concentrate on standing on his own before the words can actually process. He tugs at his bindings, then looks down his nose at Kenma. “Are we… Do you still want to continue this?” he asks, uncertain. He feels fawn-legged and weak all over. 

“That’s not facing the wall,” Kenma says and gets to his feet. He grabs hold of Tetsurou’s hip and flips him, pressing him flush against the wall, and Tetsurou jumps again at the cold press against his chest. “Arch a little—and can you get a little lower?” 

Ooh, Tetsurou is going to fall over. But he spreads his legs, as much as he trusts himself, and arches his ass out toward Kenma. Kenma smooths an appreciative hand down over his ass, claws running lightly over his goosebumps, and then there’s the crinkly sound of foil. Tetsurou sucks in a breath. 

“You okay?” Kenma asks, instead of the snarky _I thought you could handle this_  that Tetsurou expects. He runs his hand up over his ass and up his back once more, and this time, Tetsurou can’t feel his nails. 

“Just fuck me already, Kenma,” Tetsurou tells him, firm enough that his voice isn’t a whine but hopefully soft enough that it doesn’t register as an order. Kenma hums an assent, which means it’s fine. 

And instead of actually doing that, Kenma just grabs Tetsurou’s shirt and shoves it into his mouth again. Tetsurou growls and has half a mind to bite him, but then Kenma presses more little nips and kisses against Tetsurou’s exposed shoulder blades, and _ugh_  Kenma probably knows him too well. 

“You get too loud,” Kenma says casually, like they’re discussing _anything_ else right now. (But that disinterest in his voice is also kind of hot and Tetsurou momentarily wonders how fucked up he really is.) “And don’t spit it out this time.” 

“Mmph,” Tetsurou smartly replies. Kenma flicks his butt before opening the condom and rolling it on. Tetsurou wiggles his ass backwards at him, in what he hopes is taunting but knows is probably just needy, and Kenma lets out a small huff that could be a laugh. Tetsurou smiles against his shirt—and then Kenma slides into him, in one fluid motion, and the shirt does very little to muffle the noise he makes. 

“You’re still so loud,” Kenma murmurs, his own voice a touch rough, “but you look so good.” 

Tetsurou pushes back against him, as far as he’s able, but now he’s pinned even more than before. Kenma is solid against him and the hand on his hip tightens, as if in warning. But Kenma still doesn’t move, leaving Tetsurou to wiggle impatiently on his cock, whines leaving his throat with growing volume. 

“If you keep making noise, I’m going to have to find another way to keep you quiet,” Kenma tells him. Then, without further warning, he pulls out and slams back in. Tetsurou, of course, practically shouts against his poor excuse for a gag. Everything still feels like a little too much, but it feels too fucking good to call it quits now, and death by sex is probably the best death prospect he has. 

With each thrust, Tetsurou gets louder, and soon enough, he drops the shirt from his mouth just so he can attempt to suck in air between his moans and broken shouts. Kenma bites into the meat of his shoulder, hard enough to drawn blood, and Tetsurou is pretty sure the sound that leaves him qualifies as a scream. 

Next thing he knows, Kenma’s fingers are in his mouth and he’s tasting himself on them. Tetsurou still can’t hold in his cries, but this helps, and now Kenma is pressed up close enough that he can hear the little sounds _he’s_  making, too. Kenma’s fingers press against his tongue and he picks up the pace as Tetsurou runs his tongue between them. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling. He _better_  be drooling because his legs still feel weak and his back is arched tight enough to be painful and his hands are going numb and everything feels _too fucking good_  so why not add more to this mess that once was Kuroo Tetsurou? 

Tetsurou is nearly sobbing against Kenma’s fingers and Kenma is practically chewing on him with how many bruises he’s leaving across his back. Each sharp pinprick just adds to the growing tension low in his belly, and _fuck_  he loves orgasms more when something—some _one—_ is inside him, but he’s not _quite_  there. He’s so close he’d almost think Kenma were edging him if he didn’t hear the desperate noises pressed into his skin behind him. 

“Come on,” Kenma growls, “come for me, _Tetsurou_ —” 

And he does. Surprisingly, he doesn’t really make any sound, just sucking in a sharp breath against Kenma’s fingers. Hell, he could have passed out for a little while there—it _feels_ like he’s about to, anyway, and he’s still shaking and clenching around Kenma as his demon thrusts into him once, twice more and then stills. Kenma always comes so quietly, but Tetsurou supposes that (especially now) he makes enough noise for the both of them. 

Tetsurou’s arms are freed and he immediately catches himself against the wall before he faceplants and skids down. Kenma presses one last, chaste kiss to his spine before pulling out, and Tetsurou twitches at that, too. His legs ache and he’s pretty sure if anyone so much as _breathes_  on his vag anytime soon he’s going to cry. Without Kenma to support him, he slides down to his knees, and then just flops to the ground to complete his melting process. 

Tetsurou rolls onto his back and gives Kenma a dopey, drowsy smile. “You’re going to have to carry me to bed.” 

“You can sleep there.” 

“Carry me to bed, Kenma,” Tetsurou orders with a yawn. Kenma rolls his eyes, scoops him up bridal style, and Tetsurou nuzzles up against him with a sleepy little laugh. This never quite works like he’d hoped because of their size difference, but at least Kenma never has any trouble lifting him. 

Kenma dumps the witch on the bed like a sack of potatoes and Tetsurou is too tired to care. He does, at least, make grabby hands at Kenma until he pulls off the rest of his clothes and crawls onto the bed with him. He helps Tetsurou pull off his wet shirt and sports bra, and tosses them into the pile of clothes to be dealt with later. Kenma pushes a pillow under Tetsurou’s head, pulls the blanket up over them both, and scoots himself into Tetsurou’s arms to be the little spoon. 

Tetsurou yawns again and places a kiss against Kenma’s hair. “Love you, Kenma.” 

“…Love you too,” comes the small response. 

“Remind me to brace myself during the next full moon, though. Didn’t know I had a horny were-demon contracted to me…” 

Kenma elbows him.  


	36. ot4: the five times one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: bokuakakuroken  
> rating: g for gentleness  
> summary: Five sets of various interactions as these nerds learn to deal with each other.

_i._  

“Not a word,” Kenma orders flatly, eyes scrunched up tight with the realization and weight of his regret. Kuro clamps both hands over his mouth to try to keep from bursting into laughter. 

Beside Kenma, Akaashi merely looks shell-shocked, eyes still wide and not quite processing the change yet. 

Kuro _really_  wants to ask how much of this spell had been intended. There’d been magical mishaps before while mixing human and tengu magic, but _cats_  are certainly new. 

“B-Bo is going to,” Kuro forces out, voice shaking, “He’s gonna n-notice, Kenma.” 

Kenma stands, and almost immediately unbalances, tail flailing and ears pinned back against his hair. He falls into Akaashi’s lap and the tengu finally jars into action. Akaashi looks down at Kenma, eyes roving over the feline ears, sticking on the tail that’s pushing against Kenma’s sweatpants. Their own _new_ , furrier tail raises up beside them in a perfect question mark. 

“I’m going to eat your familiar,” Akaashi announces. Kuro finally explodes into cackling and falls against the doorway in a vain attempt to keep himself upright. 

“It wasn’t her fault,” Kenma sourly replies. “There was just - a snag or something - “ 

“Kenma, change us back right now.” 

“Y-You can handle being a cat tengu for a little while!” Kuro nearly howls. He slides down to the floor, clutching at his sides, and Kenma grumpily tries to stand again. His tail moves behind him, shifting and twirling to help balance, and while he looks like a toddler on unsteady legs, he manages to stumble his way over to his desk. 

Kuro manages to drag himself over, still chuckling, and holds up Kenma’s phone. Kenma tries to swipe it away, but Kuro holds it up out of his reach. “Give me that.” 

“I need to take a picture.” 

“ _Kuro_ , I swear to god - “

“Bo’s not here to see this yet, and he’s going to be depressed for a _month_  if he missed cat boyfriends. Mates? I dunno, but _cats_ , Kenma.” 

“Give me that phone right now - “ 

“Say cheese, Kenma!” 

While he may be unsteady on his feet, Kenma’s magic is still very much intact. The squabble takes longer than anticipated, but by the time Kenma shoves Kuro back into his shadow by force and retrieves his phone, deleting the dozen (admittedly blurry) pictures, Bokuto has arrived home. 

Bokuto takes one look at the mess of a living room and the new appendages on Kenma and Akaashi, and plops down, cross-legged, in front of the latter. He doesn’t say anything at first, and Akaashi’s face slowly heats up as they wring their tail in their claws. 

Kenma prepares to subdue him, too, if necessary to prevent further teasing. He’s already certain Akaashi is about to spiral into full tengu existential crisis soon. 

Bokuto, solemn and almost academic in his detachment, steeples his claws and only asks, “Can you purr?” 

 

_ii_. 

“This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Kei begins, borderline mean laughter in his voice, and Tadashi tries to swat at him despite the distance between them. “So what do you get when you mix cat, tengu, and witch magic?” 

Tadashi jumps for him, and _almost_  makes it, too, fingertips just barely missing his blond hair. 

Kenma and Morisuke, less panicked about magical accidents but still irritated, exchange a look. (Bokuto joins Tadashi in the hopping, flapping his wings but not getting very far.) All the blood is slowly rushing to Kenma’s head, which is annoying and beginning to give him a headache, so they really should take care of this sooner rather than later. 

Morisuke vanishes from beside Kenma and _pops_  back out near Kei’s feet. He begins falling toward the ceiling once more, but as a cat, he hooks his claws into Kei’s hoodie and anchors himself there, despite Kei’s growl. “This isn’t _our_  fault, you know. It was  _your_  luck,” Morisuke tells him. 

“ _You’re_  a luck spirit, too.” 

“Hey, this helps you from feeling dizzy,” Bokuto interrupts. He’s standing on his hands on the ceiling, so technically right-side-up, just… stuck to the ceiling. Like the rest of them. 

Kenma isn’t going to ruin any more of his dignity tonight by joining him. Bokuto doesn’t give him the option; flips back over, crawls toward Kenma, and picks him up. The warring gravities make Kenma’s vision swim, but soon they’re both lying down on the ceiling on their stomachs, Bokuto’s wing thrown over the small of his back. 

The good things about this situation: Kei didn’t turn into a demon from the magic, and this spell is time-based. 

Across from them, Tadashi finally manages to snag Kei’s hoodie with the help of Morisuke. The weight is too much, and Kei flops up onto the ceiling with them with a _thunk_. 

 

_iii_. 

Akaashi comes home to the sight of Kuroo and Bokuto covered in peanut butter. 

They very nearly turn around and walk right back out the door. But they’re both giving them puppy eyes, leading Akaashi to believe that this _isn’t_  some sort of weird sex thing, so they don’t leave. Yet. “…This isn’t foreplay, right?” Akaashi asks, just to be sure, because once bitten, twice shy. 

“Kuroo came up with it!” 

That does not reassure Akaashi. 

Kuroo seems to sense this, and, after wiping a particularly large glob of peanut butter off of his hand, he explains, “So I saw this thing on the internet! It was these bird feeders, right, that you can make on your own. You take pinecones and smear them in peanut butter and then put lots of birdseed on them - “ 

“Kuroo, we aren’t songbirds,” Akaashi interrupts, and _can’t believe they have to tell him that_. 

“The birdseed’s pretty good, though,” Bokuto says. 

“See!” Kuroo exclaims with a lot of nodding. He holds up the half-empty jar and adds, “We weren’t sure how to put the peanut butter _on_  the pinecones, though, so we just used our fingers. And, uh, things got sort of out of hand…?” 

“…Do you _want_  it to be a foreplay thing?” Bokuto asks with a squint. Akaashi very quickly shakes their head. “Well, this stuff tastes great, anyway, and I like the crunch. Wanna try some?” 

“I… suppose,” Akaashi replies, reluctantly, and leans down to sniff the jar. 

Bokuto reaches over and smears peanut butter across Akaashi’s mouth and jaw. Kuroo, laughing, does the same on their other side a beat later. Akaashi isn’t certain why they expected anything else. 

 

_iv_. 

Kenma and Akaashi lay on the couch together, Kenma on his back with Akaashi lying on his stomach. Kenma plays his game over Akaashi’s head, volume on its lowest setting, just barely a hum of music to listen to. 

He thinks Akaashi is sleeping, or dozing at least, until the tengu gives a sleepy murmur and wiggles further up. Due to the size difference (and the size of the couch), Akaashi’s feet are already hanging over the edge, draped in a blanket. They hadn’t complained, because the only things Akaashi bothers to complain about are Bokuto and Bokuto Things, but Kenma lets them crawl up further until they’re sharing the same pillow. He thinks Akaashi’s feet are still hanging over the other arm of the couch, though. 

“When’s the last time you took a break?” Akaashi murmurs, voice sleep-rough, and Kenma glances over to find the tengu with their eyes barely open and on the handheld. 

“Before the last boss, probably.” 

“It said you should take a fifteen minute break every hour…” 

Kenma can’t help a soft chuckle at that. “That’s not how you play video games.” 

“You should rest your eyes,” Akaashi replies with a yawn. “Let’s move to the bed, too…” 

“Let me get to the next save point.” 

Akaashi rolls off of him, Kenma lifting his arms to let them go, and by the time Akaashi is done yawning again and smoothing out their sleep-ruffled feathers, Kenma saves and sits up as well. He follows them to the bedroom and is frankly unsurprised to find Kuro sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, head buried in all but one of the pillows and snoring loudly enough to be heard even through them. 

Akaashi stares down at him like they’re not sure _why_  there’s a demon in the bed. Kenma just laughs again, soft and fond, and crawls onto the bed. He curls up against one of Kuro’s sides, and after a moment, Akaashi does the same on his other side. Kuro doesn’t stir but he’s already sleep-warm and surprisingly comfortable. 

Kenma waits until he can hear Akaashi’s breathing even out again before pulling his handheld back out of his hoodie pocket. As he shifts to get a little more comfortable and make sure he doesn’t put Kuro’s arm to sleep by using him as a pillow, Kenma sees that Akaashi’s feet are still hanging off of the bed.

 

_v_. 

Kenma’s stomach jumps as Bokuto’s nails drag across the scar there. Bokuto’s hands are off him in an instant but Kenma just reaches over and tugs his hands back down. “It’s okay,” he tells him, almost too quiet to hear. 

Bokuto presses down with the rough skin of his fingers and traces along other scars on Kenma’s body. He does not return to the largest burn scar. “Is this why you don’t like to show your body?” Bokuto asks. “Why you don’t like healing magic?

“No,” Kenma replies and averts his eyes. 

“So many of these are burns…” 

“It’s not that I don’t like healing magic. It’s just easier to stop bleeding myself,” Kenma admits. He looks down at all of the little scars he probably could have avoided had he mustered up the courage or money to see a healer or a doctor. It’s rare that he minds them - they’re just proof that he’s survived up until now and it’s not like he doesn’t have bigger issues with his body anyway - but for moments like this… 

“Tell me the story of this one?” Bokuto asks, tracing along a line on the outside of Kenma’s thigh. 

“It was a fight and I got a knife pulled on me,” Kenma dully replies. Bokuto sighs, nearly huffs, and Kenma realizes how different their storytelling methods are. “Uh, I also zapped the person…? The piercings in their ears and lip burned them, too, and it, um, smelled really gross.” 

“Tell me a better story!” Bokuto whines and flops against Kenma. He oofs with the sudden weight but stays propped up on his elbows. “You pick one. Preferably without burning.” 

“I got this one from Lev,” Kenma offers meekly. He holds up his left hand, angling it so the little line on his thumb catches the light. “We were cooking, and a glass got dropped. He has one that almost matches on his hand, too.” 

“I got this one from when I fought a dragon,” Bokuto says, pride coloring his voice as he rolls onto his side in order to flex. There’s a jagged pair of scars curling over his shoulder and down his arm before it disappears into the feathers, barely visible. 

“I know,” Kenma replies with a small smile, “You’ve shown me them before.” Bokuto grins, but there’s a little bit of something _off_  in it, like he’s not sure where to go next with the conversation. Kenma saves him by splaying his hand across his stomach again. “I got shot by a witch with a crossbow here. It was during the last dragon migration, and I was trying to protect Kuro.” He laughs, and pleasantly it’s not as bitter as he’d anticipated. “We were both unprepared and outclassed.” 

“You must’ve done a good job of protecting him, considering you’re both still here,” Bokuto reasons, and Kenma snorts another soft laugh. “Seriously! I’ve seen in you a fight, and you’re nothing to sneeze at.” 

“I was distracted.” 

“I’ve seen you distracted by video games and you can _still_  cast magic one-handed, without looking.” 

“Can we go back to talking about scars?” Kenma asks, cheeks warming, and Bokuto smiles up at him like the sun incarnate. 

Bokuto runs his palm up against another burn on Kenma’s ribs, and Kenma’s breath catches again, but as usual, Bokuto doesn’t seem to find anything particularly strange or out of place about his body. It’s something Kenma hasn’t gotten used to (and he’s not sure he _wants_  to get used to it). At least Kuro started out with the vague sense that this was something that made Kenma different. 

“I fell out of a tree when I was five or six there,” Kenma says as he catches Bokuto repeatedly tracing over a faded, little scar near Kenma’s shoulder. 

“So you _do_  have normal scars!” 

“Do you even know what a normal scar would be for a human?” 

“I’m getting better about humans,” Bokuto pouts. 

“Yes, you are,” Kenma agrees just to see the way Bokuto smiles at him again.


	37. au: the actor one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t for violence/swearing  
> summary: AU: "BELL, BOOK, AND CANDLE" directed by Ennoshita Chikara.

He just has to buy time. 

Daichi had spent his entire enlistment with vague ideas of himself in war lingering in the back of his brain, eating at him and leaving him sleepless on the bad nights. He didn’t particularly want to be deployed. He wanted to _fight_  even less. And yet he had _never_  envisioned anything like this: the ground is beginning to shake again, and the air is literally shimmering with so much magic it’s visible, and all he has on him is a sword that he can hardly keep in his blood-slick hands. 

“This magic bullshit fucking sucks,” Daichi mutters as he approaches Northot. He does not lower his head or cringe away despite the way his head pounds and every other cell in his body rebels against approaching that _thing_. 

All he has to do is buy time for the others. He’s the only one who can hold the vorpal sword, and one of the last ones who’s still able to move freely. 

And, if he’s being honest with himself, Daichi fully _knows_  he’s expendable in the grand scheme of things. It’s a sobering thought. 

Northot doesn’t even seem to notice the lone human approaching it from behind. Daichi probably doesn’t compare to dragons and tengu and witches. Joke’s on Northot, then. They knew this was likely, that Northot would be distracted trying to find the others, wouldn’t peg Daichi as a threat until it’s too late. One good thing for today. 

Another good thing for today: it’s not Suga doing this. 

Daichi wishes their last words to one another hadn’t been arguing over this. He wishes he had never gotten this stupid fucking sword in the first place. He wishes this apocalypse hadn’t gotten this far. He wishes they had _any_  other plan that involved Northot’s blood. 

Daichi is nearly within reach by the time Northot finally twists around to face him with hollow eyes and needle teeth. 

Daichi lunges forward with the vorpal blade raised. Northot, for all its power, shows its fatigue from the battle; it’s a hair too late to stop Daichi and the magic-eating blade bites into Northot’s side. 

The god screams and Daichi only hears the first half second of it before something in his body shuts down or rejects it; his ears ring in suffocating silence and the pounding in his head gets worse. Daichi pushes the blade deeper, as deep and as fast as he can go, and the bright flesh burns and boils around the metal. 

The vorpal sword begins to glow, too, first red and then orange, and Daichi may see it start to warp just as one of Northot’s limbs comes around and gouges into Daichi’s neck. 

He’s thrown backwards, and there’s foul-tasting blood everywhere, and he could swear he heard Suga shout. 

Daichi lands heavily just as he hears Chikara’s shout of “ _Cut!_ ” 

Daichi groans and stares at the ceiling. He was supposed to be thrown onto the _mat_. This is not the first time he had missed, not even today, and his back is starting to complain. 

Suga leans over into his vision with a water bottle. “You’re covered in blood,” he says cheerily. Suga extends a hand down and helps Daichi up, and Daichi is certain half his body cracks as he gets back up. 

“This tastes disgusting,” Daichi says and resists the urge to spit the blood from the squib onto the floor. 

Suga offers him the water, still totally bright and happy and, shockingly, spotless. “Believe me, I _know_  how gross that stuff tastes. You’re not the one who’s had to cough it up every other scene.” 

“You wanted to be a main character…” Daichi mumbles around the bottle. Suga smacks him, hard, and Daichi coughs on the water. He’s not sure if he has more bruises from doing his own stunts or from Suga. Maybe they’re equal. 

“At least you don’t have to jump off buildings,” Suga tells him. 

“ _Please_. Noya can’t shut up about that one.” 

“You don’t go through fake blood by the gallon.” 

“You and Ushijima should buy stock.” 

“I think Ennoshita already has,” Suga says with a thoughtful tilt in his head. The pair stand and watch as Chikara goes over something with his assistant, and Daichi silently prays that they don’t have to do another take today. Chikara wants to power through as much of the final battle as he can within the week, and Daichi gets that, but he doesn’t have to be so demanding with his scenes. 

“That’s good, Daichi!” Chikara calls over. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll live. Can I get cleaned up?” 

“Yeah, you’re off the hook for now. But if you see Kuroo, tell him I need him back here again!” 

Ooh, Daichi is going to relish passing that along. 

While Suga may complain about their lack of scenes together, Daichi is a little glad he’s not a big main character. He sees the way the others work their asses off and he knows that several scenes have, in fact, ended up using real blood and bruises due to various ‘accidents’. He’ll be fine complaining about fake blood, thank you very much. 

“Are you actually free for awhile?” Daichi asks curiously as Suga follows him off set. They weave in and out of people carrying over different pieces of rubble or parts of Northot’s rig with the expertise of actors who have been on this project for _far_  too long. 

“Yup. Since Yui isn’t out of costume yet, I get to play hooky until she’s ready,” Suga says and slings an arm around Daichi’s shoulders. “You get to put up with me for a little while longer, sorry. It’s a real burden, I know.” 

Daichi hums and takes another drag from the bottle. He swirls it around in his mouth since that foul taste tends to stick around, but it doesn’t really help. The rest of the splatter on his face and neck is starting to dry, too, and itch. “Say, I thought I heard you yell or something when I got hit that time.” 

Suga flushes and looks faintly irritated at getting caught. Daichi grins. “I saw that the angle was wrong and you weren’t going to fall on the mat. I don’t want your ass getting bruised, do I?” 

“What about my head?” 

“I have more use for one than the other.” 

“You’re supposed to be _less_  perverted out of character, you know,” Daichi points out and hits Suga, lightly, with the nearly-empty water bottle. 

And Suga just laughs and shrugs. Daichi feels his face warm at the sound of that happy, musical laughter. God, he has it bad, and working with him on this project has only made it worse. 

“I think we need to go back and re-film the birthday scene, if you ask me,” Suga replies, a glint in his eye, “then we can revisit this Who Is The Pervert discussion.” 

Daichi’s face feels even hotter now and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m never living that down, am I?” 

“Why would you _want_  to?” Suga asks him. He gives Daichi a fond and blessedly gentle pat on the shoulder and tells him, “We can redo that anytime you want, Daichi. Embrace your very slight amounts of kink.”

Daichi groans.


	38. au: the reverse one 2: electric boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: p much the same as canon bbac except with 100% more accidental sexual tension  
> rating: m  
> summary: AU: What if all of the roles in bbac were swapped along pairing axes, take TWO.

Daichi is never touching another kikimora again if it kills him. He’s going to beat Hajime with the wikipedia entry on them; _why wouldn’t he warn him about the sleep magic_? Okay, Hajime’s not the sharpest when it comes to accurately recalling various mythological creatures, and in fact usually just sends Daichi off in a vague direction with a “go fix that”, but. _But_. 

But he’s not going to ruin his laptop, so a book will have to do for a suitable weapon. He ducks into a bookstore on his way home, dragging his feet and badly stifling his yawns, and hopes he’s somehow lucky enough for it to have a book on Slavic mythology. 

“Can I help you find anything tonight?” a voice politely inquires. Tired as he is, Daichi’s reflexes aren’t the best, and it takes him an embarrassing beat to raise his head to acknowledge the salesperson. 

But when he does, he finds it hard to breathe all of a sudden. 

The person before him must be part fairy or angel or something, because he’s  _beautiful_  in an ethereal sense. His hair is like starlight, falling in cutely messy waves with a few stray curls sticking up, and Daichi can hardly tear his eyes away to even meet his big, brown doe eyes. Wait, shit, there’s an honest to god _beauty mark_  right near one. How is this legal? How is Daichi this lucky? He’s so not getting that book tonight. 

Maybe Daichi is easily impressed, but you do not find someone this fucking attractive every night, and he usually hangs out with Iwaizumi Hajime and Michimiya Yui, no less. 

Wait, he’s supposed to give an answer. 

“Uh.” Good job, Daichi. He clears his throat and tries again. “I was just. Mythology? Um, a book, I was looking—” _Shut up Daichi_. 

“Oh, well, we have a mythology section over here to the left,” the man replies. His voice is warm and smooth and Daichi wants to listen to it while he falls asleep. “Anything in particular I can help you find?” he asks with the air of a rushed retail worker. 

Daichi wonders what time it is. Late, he knows. 

“Slavic mythology,” he answers on autopilot, following the man, eyes straying downward. Long legs, hips that Daichi wants to grab, and _that ass_. Unfair. “If it’s getting late and you have to close soon, I can find it on my own? And maybe we could meet for coffee after you get off?” _Holy shit shut_ up _Daichi_.

The man squints at him a little over his shoulder. “I try not to drink coffee this late. Any books we have on mythology are in this section here,” he says briskly, patting the nearest shelf, “but I can order something else for you if you’d like.” 

Daichi opens his mouth, probably to apologize and/or shove his mouth in further, when he sees a coworker of Unfairly Beautiful Guy in his peripheries. A tall, blond, quickly-hurrying-away coworker. 

_You’re shitting me_ , Daichi mentally groans. 

 

\--

 

“ _There_  you are!” Morisuke calls and bounds over to Tetsurou before he can fully process the group of people with him. Most of them are dripping wet from the sprinklers, and the fire alarm is still blaring, but something else about this situation suddenly feels _wrong_. 

There’s ash smeared across Tetsurou’s cheek, one of the men with him keeps shooting him dirty looks, and the sleepy-looking man with the otherwise mild smile turns to him and says, “Friend of his? Friend of ours, now.” 

Morisuke gulps. Tetsurou grimaces. 

He can’t very well ask Tetsurou what’s up as they’re hauled into a taxi and taken across the city, but fuck, he’s trying to send him messages via eye contact. Eye contact that Tetsurou is steadily avoiding, that ass. The other two ignore his questioning as well, and Morisuke starts going over his rights and his will in his mind, because they’re probably getting hauled off by the men in black or something. …The poorly dressed men in black. Whatever. He’s still pissed. 

They’re dropped off at a weird little shop across town, and Morisuke has his phone confiscated from him before he can successfully call the cops. 

Thoughts of emergency rescue go out the window when a vaguely humanoid shape comes up out of Tetsurou’s shadow and mumbles, “This place smells like magic.” 

Tetsurou sighs, long and hard, when Morisuke jumps away like a startled cat. “This is going to be one of those days, isn’t it.” 

“Don’t even get me started,” says the grumpy-looking man. 

 

-–

 

Morisuke and Tetsurou stare at the beautiful silver cat curled around the tall blond’s shoulders. He doesn’t seem like a cat person, and in fact seems incredibly lost and peeved at them all for simply existing in his presence, but, hey. Morisuke and Tetsurou _are_  cat people. 

The cat jumps down onto the table and stretches with a surprisingly vocal yawn. Morisuke hadn’t thought cats really made noise when they yawned, but it could be a weird cat, and it’s really cute, either way. Kenma steps out of Tetsurou’s shadow and picks up the cat with the closest thing to glee Morisuke has ever seen on him. 

He unhinges his jaws, skin melting black, and both Tetsurou and Morisuke jump. “Holy shit, Kenma—”

“Let _go_  of me!” the cat yowls. The blond backpedals, banging against a shelf behind him, and Morisuke crouches down behind the counter. Talking cat. Of course. Talking cat that the demon is _about to eat—_

_“Drop_ it!” Tetsurou shouts and Kenma drops the cat as though burned. 

“Spirits shouldn’t be in here. He’s the bigger threat,” Kenma mumbles, then turns sharp, golden eyes on some unseen spot in the corner. “Ghosts aren’t welcome here.” 

“Stay away from him!” the silver cat snarls and jumps up between them, fur frizzed out. With a _pop_  and a strange, metallic smell that Morisuke is beginning to associate with magic, the cat turns into a human. Well, mostly—his hair is the same color as the cat ears still sticking out of his head, laid flat in anger. His tail lashes behind him. “I didn’t know witches employed _demons_  now!” 

“Back off, he’s with me,” Tetsurou snaps. He tugs Kenma back by the hood of his hoodie, shoves him behind him, and stands bravely up against the cat monster who is, frankly, _bigger_  than him. Tetsurou clearly isn’t used to being the smaller party and his glare wavers a bit. The cat monster leans down over him, grinning with sharp teeth. 

Morisuke _is_  used to things behind bigger than him. He pops up in between them, a hand against Tetsurou’s chest and the other coming up in front of the cat thing, ready to start drawing runes that he can’t actually use yet. But if Morisuke’s learned one thing as an intern, it’s that bluffing can do a world of wonder. “Both of you, stop it! Cat thing, _you_  came into _our_  store, so tell us why you’re here before we send our attack demon on you.”

The cat thing blinks and sits back, reclining in the air. Kenma makes an irritated noise behind Tetsurou. “I’m Lev. A bakeneko? You’re tiny because you’re still young, right? Humans should still know their place, though!” 

“I’m _what_?!” 

Tetsurou catches Morisuke by the back of the shirt, too, and quickly shoves him behind him as well. 

The blond teenager shakily clears his throat. “Um. Maybe I could speak to your manager before any more catfights break out?” 

 

\--

 

Kenma blinks at the two figures on the rooftop as they share a high-five and grins. Then, the smaller one aims its crossbow straight up at  _them_. Kenma digs his claws into Tetsurou's jacket, mouth opening to warn him, but then the broom beneath them dips without warning and Kenma feels the bottom of his stomach drop out. 

They pelt down toward the rooftop, even as a gunshot rings out and above them, Chikara drops in the air. Kenma sees the other person—they've  _got_ to be witches, he can nearly smell the magic from here even with the storm—raise their rifle again and he yanks on Tetsurou's sleeve with a point. Tetsurou steadies the broom with his legs and makes an arrow. He pegs the redheaded man in the side of the head, throwing off his next shot, and certainly gaining their attention. 

Kenma jumps off the broom and lands neatly on the rooftop below, in front of the other person. He's younger than Kenma had originally anticipated, and far smaller. Smaller even than Kenma. And he definitely reeks of magic. "Drop your weapon," Kenma commands. 

The one with the rifle twists around to aim at Kenma, but another magic arrow hits him between the eyes, and he drops his gun with a snarl and a curse. It's the distraction the shorter one was looking for, though, and he raises his crossbow; Kenma leaps at him with claws out. 

He lands on him just as the sky tears open above them. 

The air suddenly goes oppressive and  _thick_ with magic, and Kenma nearly chokes on it. Panic buzzes through his connection with Tetsurou, and when he turns to check on him, he catches sight of a massive  _thing_ reaching through the clouds to snag at the dragons. It's large, larger than any dragon or the garuda, and it picks up fully grown wyverns like a child with a fistful of worms. Kenma can't look directly at it, and the dragons' screams are a dull thrum compared to the sudden ringing pressure behind his eardrums. 

That hand is gone as abruptly as it came, dragging dragons with it, and the storm resumes with a crack of thunder. Kenma feels rooted to the spot. Behind him, Tetsurou tips off the broom. 

 

\--

 

Daichi must be the unluckiest fucker in the city. He nearly wants to cry when he finds  _Suga_ extending a hand down to help him up, Giggle nosing at his side. "Didn't know you were a horse rancher," Suga says lightly. Daichi takes his hand, putting more weight than he'd otherwise like on the grip in order to get upright again. "What cute… horned horses you have. Any particular reason why you're walking a couple of unicorns before dawn?" Suga asks. The laugh in his voice tells Daichi that he thinks his is all some sort of joke. 

But it's not a goddamned joke when the unicorn foal continues to nibble and nudge at him. Suga puts a hand out to pet him, and the foal seems to like it for about five seconds before he begins mouthing at Suga's hand. _Fuck_. Daichi feels his heart trip over in sheer panic. "Don't let him…!" Oh god, he needs to fix this, and  _fast_ , but his brain is moving through a fog thanks to the sleep soot and his body is even worse. 

He pulls Suga bodily away from the unicorn. Sparkle, behind him, leans down over his shoulder with a sleepy snort. Right, virgin blood. He needs to fix that before either of them get even more curious. Daichi tries to keep himself between Suga and the unicorns as best he can, and that may involve leaning on the man a little too much. Suga seems happy to help hold him upright, even if Daichi catches the tiny, concerned noise he makes. He makes a louder one when Daichi pulls his glove off to get at his bare skin.

Suga sucks in a breath when Daichi pricks his thumb with his knife. "Daichi, what—" 

Daichi writes runes across Suga's palm and he feels the magic tug at him. He's even sleepier now, perfect, but at least the unicorns smell the magically used blood and back off a little. Daichi heaves the greatest fucking sigh of relief in the history of sighs of relief that he doesn't have to watch this amazing man get eaten by a baby unicorn today.

"Mind telling me what's going on before I call the cops?" Suga asks sweetly, in his ear. Then, after a pause, the tone leaves his voice and he adds, "Or an ambulance. Your foot doesn't look too good there…" 

"I need to take care of them, and then I'll… do something," Daichi replies. 

"Do something and then explain to me why you just went all blood brothers on me? And have horses?" 

"They're not horses," Daichi admits like it pains him. "They're unicorns."

"Yeah. Cute. Are you  _okay_ , Daichi?" 

Daichi will  _never_ tire of how Suga says his name, even if it's laced with concern and irritation right now. "Just… come with me? I'll explain once I deliver these two to their owner." 

"So you're  _not_ a unicorn rancher." 

"God, no." 

"And here I thought I'd finally learn a thing or two about you," Suga hums. He doesn't look happy, but he helps Daichi up onto Sparkle, and they get going through the snowy, predawn morning. 

 

\--

 

“What are you doing,” Lev asks, green eyes wide and uncharacteristically serious. 

Morisuke just shoves the little wisp up against his open mouth. Lev chews without losing his shocked expression. “Feeding you, since I didn’t mean to make that thing.” 

“You shouldn’t be able to do that.” 

“Yeah, well, I never asked for this magic bullshit, either. But _someone_  has to keep your asses out of the fire—” 

“No, I mean, a regular human shouldn’t be able to summon anything,” Lev interrupts. Morisuke narrows his eyes; he’s getting more than a little tired of all of the _regular human_  stuff. “Don’t give me that look! You shouldn’t be doing magic like Kuroo! You’re not a witch!” 

“It’s not like I can do anything else…” 

“But if you’re summoning things,” Lev pauses with a gasp, and Morisuke narrows his eyes further, “then you could accidentally summon a _thing_  like Kozume. You need to go talk to Kuroo right now and sort out how not to get more demons in this city!” 

And Lev grabs Morisuke’s hand and is tugging him out the door before Morisuke can splutter out a protest. It’s winter and he’s just in sweats, but at least he has his shoes on. Still, he’s shivering and numb by the time the big, dumb cat spirit drags him down into the nearest metro station, and Morisuke gives Lev such a _look_. 

“Oh. Oops,” Lev says and if Morisuke’s arms weren’t wrapped as tight as physically possible around himself, he’d smack him. 

 

\--

 

Tetsurou has rarely seen Kenma move so fast. 

One moment, his own heart racing at the sight of Morisuke standing outside the door, he’s bracing to start magically locking the hotel door again. The next moment, Kenma’s ducked under his arm, opened the door, and yanked Morisuke inside. Tetsurou hardly had time to blink. 

“Kenma, what the _shit—_ ” Tetsurou begins but Kenma darts back underneath him again, sliding smoothly into his shadow and popping back out the other side, and beckons toward the pair of tengu perched on the bed. “Kenma! Stop that and—shit, Yaku, don’t you have any goddamned shame?!” 

Morisuke bristles at once. “ _Me_? You’re the one with—” 

“We need to go, excuse us,” Kenma says, giving Morisuke a wide berth as he tugs Akaashi out behind him. Bokuto follows in their wake, eyes big and curious. 

“Kenma, don’t you _dare_  ditch us—” 

Kenma gives him a single, reproachful look over his shoulder and slams the door behind himself. 

Tetsurou groans into his hands. He’s going to give that little demon brat a  _long_  speech about how no one means it _literally_  when someone says to lock people in a room until they work out their differences. 

“I see you’re still making friends all things magical and dangerous,” Morisuke says flatly. 

“Don’t you start,” Tetsurou warns. 

“I’m not starting anything. I just came by to give you this,” Morisuke tells him and thrusts out a big, leatherbound book at him. Tetsurou recognizes it as his own. “Kei was trying to track you with it, and I know you’re trying to stay under the radar right now, so… there.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” Wow, awkward. Tetsurou takes the book, tucks it under his arm, and glances around the messy hotel room. Perfect. So Morisuke leaves his life because he claims that he doesn’t have things under control, and he comes back into his life to see that it very much looks like Tetsurou does _not_  have his life under control. Feeling defensive, Tetsurou hastens to add, “I can normally control Kenma better than that. You know that.” 

“I should hope so,” Morisuke retorts. He glances back towards the door, but makes no motion to leave. “So, uh, how’s the… thing… going?” 

“Oh. It’s, uh. Going.” His hands still ache with half-healed magic burns and _wow this is fucking awkward_. “I made friends with some tengu. Well, Kenma made friends with some tengu, but they’re… kind of helping?” No they weren’t, but he feels the need to defend his company in front of Morisuke. Which is dumb, since he usually doesn’t feel this cagey around him. 

“That’s good, I guess. Might as well do whatever it is you’re doing,” he mutters and jams his hands into his pockets. Neither look at the other. Then, without warning, Morisuke announces, “I’m a summoner. Lev acted like it was a pretty big deal—” 

“Holy fuck, _yes it is_. You’re shitting me, Yaku.” 

“Am not.” 

“You are _not_  a summoner.” 

“Are too. How else would I know what the hell one is?” Morisuke asks, eyes narrowed, but a quirk to the corner of his mouth. “I still don’t understand most of this magic jargon. But it’s a big deal, and he seemed worried about me accidentally summoning something bad, so… How easy is it to accidentally summon a demon?” 

“You have to try for it.” 

“ _You_  did it.” 

“You wound me,” Tetsurou seriously tells him, palm against his chest. “I did not  _accidentally_  summon Kenma. I just accidentally got contracted to him is all.” 

“You have the shittiest luck,” Morisuke says, with a widening grin, and Tetsurou can’t help the way he breaks into his own crooked smirk at the sight. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he agrees with a little laugh. And, miracle of miracles, Morisuke chuckles, too. The tension in the room eases, and for the first time in what feels like a long-ass time, Tetsurou thinks they might actually be _okay_. 

Then, of course, it all comes crashing back down around his ears. 

His laugh halts on a choked gasp; he can’t breathe, and all he feels is an overwhelming pressure from his connection with Kenma. Tetsurou staggers, and Morisuke raises his arms to help him on reflex, but his vision swims and he isn’t sure what happens next aside from the carpet suddenly rushing up to meet his face. 

 

\--

 

"You just died," Ushijima says flatly. He's not looking too hot himself; his fur is magic-charred and his tail hangs limply, as if broken. 

"Yeah, I got that," Satori replies. He's surprised at how hoarse he sounds, but he supposes he should be forgiven for that. Death is a bitch. His Door had been surprisingly nice, though. There's an itch in the back of his brain that isn't going away, and he's not sure if that's an aftereffect, or something to do directly with Northot, or something he'll just have to live with now. 

He sits up with a groan. It feels like very joint in his body just cracked, and that he's ran ten marathons, and maybe had a couple major surgeries on top of it. He feels like shit and he's running out of comparisons. 

"I'm working for that thing now as well," Ushijima tells him. " _The Thing That Should Not Be_. …Hm, how odd…" 

"Great," Satori mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. So there's  _that_ to deal with as well. Everything feels tender, and terrible, and he wonders if he can just go back to sleep for a year or so. Satori cracks open an eye, regarding the matagot uncharacteristically seriously. "…What sort of payment did you ask for?" 

"I'm curious in what you want," Ushijima replies instead.

"Not that again. I told you—you'll find out when you find out. You gotta be with me for the long haul if you want Top Tier Tendou Secrets." With another rough groan, he stands, and his legs feel like jelly on top of everything else. Yeah, he's going to have to pass out  _real_ soon. 

"I'm with you until you finish this job," Ushijima confirms.

"Only that long? What a pity," Satori replies, keeping his voice light. The matagot only tilts his head to the side in confusion. The guy's like talking to a brick wall, except slightly more handsome and slightly less expressive. "Well, job's not over due to death yet, so let's go find some vaguely horizontal surface to sleep this off on. No need dying again just to prove a point." 

"What point would that prove?" 

"I don't know, let's just  _sleep_ , okay?" 


	39. futakuchi: the escort one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: none  
> rating: g  
> summary: Kenji may need to gain a set of morals when trading with humans, lest he end up with a babysitter.

“I heard you were selling dangerous items to humans _again_.” 

Kenji pauses in his chewing and looks up from his book with the most innocent _who, me?_  expression a mostly-grown kitsune can manage. Moniwa, hands on his hips, floats just outside the window. His wings are nearly invisible in the afternoon sun. 

“Don’t try to look cute, you know it doesn’t work with me,” Moniwa adds. 

“You come to my humble, _private_  abode, just to accost me? I’m just trying to enjoy a break today,” Kenji replies and pointedly goes back to his book. 

“The tengu told me they saw you trade two _live salamanders_  for some of those gummy things you like so much,” Moniwa says, recrimination heavy in his voice, and Kenji guiltily swallows. “You _did_ , didn’t you?!” 

“Salamanders aren’t that dangerous,” he begins, but the fairy darts in through his window and cuffs him upside the head. Dust scatters over him and he shudders; that feels worse than the smack did. “Could you _not_? That fairy dust is going to make me start sneezing and it itches something fierce.” 

“You should get that checked out in between all of your illegal bartering.” 

“It’s not illegal!” 

“Two small humans shouldn’t be getting live salamanders so easily without witch permits!” Moniwa scolds and Kenji cowers like he’s about to get hit again, tails curled around himself. The pathetic display is enough to get Moniwa to back off with a sigh and a flutter. Kenji swears he’s going to put iron bars on his windows soon. “And not for _candy_ , Futakuchi.” 

“You can’t get that kind of human candy in this country and it’s my favorite,” Kenji pouts. 

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion-slash-argument. It likely won’t be the last. 

“I _will_  demand fae intervention if I see you trading dangerous items again,” Moniwa threatens, hands on his hips. With his ears pinned flat, Kenji looks up at where he’s hovering above him. That’s new. “We don’t need a repeat of the angel blood incident.” 

Ah, so that’s why. The kitsune sucks his teeth and pets over two of the tails curled into his lap. “No one can trace that back to me. You can’t prove anything.” He’d _really_  needed the dragon parts for another customer of his. “You worry too much for one of the wild folk! Doesn’t a fae king have better things to do than worry over a little youkai like myself?” 

Moniwa colors, like he always does when Kenji brings that up, and for a brief moment, it looks like he may try to hit him again. Instead, he just snags the half-hidden bag of sour gummies and leaves back out the window, making sure to spread more fairy dust on his way out. 

Kenji sneezes onto his book. 

The next day, he’s very unamused about the stony-faced tornit seated by his stall. “I don’t need an escort,” Kenji announces, nose in the air and arms folded across his chest. 

The tornit just blinks at him. He doesn’t say anything, but even sitting down, he’s as tall as Kenji. 

“You can go home, then. Go away,” Kenji tells him with a little shooing motion. 

The tornit still doesn’t respond. Kenji squints at him, and the pale-haired man just stares impassively back. Kenji can tell he’s stuck with him for the day. Alright then, Kenji isn’t going to pick a fight with the fae or someone twice his size. He opens up his stall, unpacks his wares, and ignores the figure next to him the entire time. 

Aside from a couple of the loudmouthed birds squawking in surprise when they arrive in the morning to man their shop, no one really seems to mind the tornit. He scares away a few customers, but thankfully, not as many as Kenji had initially expected. It’s just a slow day overall. A slow, _boring_  day. 

Shockingly, Moniwa doesn’t stop by to check on them, however. Kenji goes through the bulk of the rest of his gummies, out of misplaced spite or just in case the fairy _does_  stop by to confiscate more, and halfway through his last bag he holds it out to his silent assistant. 

The tornit takes exactly one with a nearly-silent-but-still-there, “Thank you.” 

Kenji pretends his tails aren’t wagging as he finishes off the bag himself. 


	40. yachi: the first meeting one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kiyoyachi if you squint  
> rating: g  
> summary: A glimpse into Yachi Hitoka's childhood, and the first meeting with a certain psychic.

Yachi Hitoka is nine when she discovers her knack for healing magic. She is ten when she learns how to heal other people, not just herself, and she is eleven when her mother lets her “sell” her services for the coven members. It’s all cute little things, healing scraped knees, easing headaches, stopping the occasional nosebleed or soothing the rare burn. Her mother looks on, proud and amused, and it’s these moments that fill Hitoka with warmth. 

She is twelve when she first properly meets Shimizu Kiyoko. 

She’s seen the older girl around the coven lands occasionally, from a distance or in groups. But it’s when she’s twelve (and a half!) that she stops hanging around what her mother refers to as the “kid’s table” and starts sitting in on more meetings. She starts talking with more adults. She learns a few more potions and poultices from other members. 

And she’s trying to heal a broken arm of one Michimiya Yui (second injury this month)—she needs a _lot_  of practice on broken bones, but a few of the witches kindly allow her to practice on them in the name of speeding up their recovery—when Kiyoko comes over, kneels down beside Hitoka, and says, “Do you know any anesthetic spells?” 

“ _Kiyoko_ ,” Yui grumbles, and the name rings through Hitoka’s mind like a bell. She can hardly concentrate on Yui’s arm with the beautiful girl next to her, and Hitoka can barely look straight at her, she’s so dazzling. 

Hitoka doesn’t respond. Her tongue feels like lead in her mouth. Cottony lead. Too heavy and too thick and can you get a swollen tongue just from someone’s presence? Is that a symptom of something? 

“Pain-relieving,” Kiyoko amends, voice even more gentle than before. 

“I-I know wh-what anesthetic means!” Hitoka squeaks out. 

And _of course_  her first words to the pretty girl next to her are so _rude_  and  _terrible_  and how dare she correct her when she was just trying to be helpful and—

“Hitoka, _breathe_ ,” Yui chimes in. Hitoka is certain her face is as red as a tomato. She feels too warm, almost feverish, and this is nothing like the contented feeling she gets when she heals other people. 

Hitoka finishes as best she can with Yui’s arm, and she knows it’s sloppy and horrible and not her best work, and she quickly excuses herself. 

The handful of other children and young witches she finds out in the yard give her curious looks for coming out to play with them again. Hitoka just wordlessly squats down in the grass next to Mai and her little sister and and helps them with the flower crown they’re trying to weave. They were using avens, how (probably) apt. 

The next time she sees Kiyoko, they’re alone. Hitoka has been chasing her mother’s familiar, trying to catch the famously troublemaking bunny, and nearly runs face-first into Kiyoko’s chest. 

The rabbit darts between Kiyoko’s legs and Hitoka skids to a halt, hands up in defense like she’d already done something bad. “I-I’m sorry!” 

“Was that your mother’s?” Kiyoko asks, twisting around to try to spot the fleeing white familiar. 

“Ah, yeah, but he always does this… He only listens to mother, b-but I try to keep him out of trouble, at least, and…” Hitoka’s shoulders droop and she lets out a tiny, defeated groan. It’s not as if the bunny _hates_  her, but he certainly never listens to her, and rabbits are _really fast_. Half the time she’s convinced her mom makes her babysit him just to keep her out of the way when they talk about Adult Stuff. 

“I’ll help you catch him. It should be easier with two people, right?” Kiyoko offers. 

Hitoka blushes up to the roots of her hair but nods. The two girls track the rabbit all around the coven plot, first chasing the bunny through a bunch of bushes, then underneath the house. Hitoka tries to catch him with a bit of magic, but as always, he just kicks off the spell and she lets out a despairing noise. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—!” Hitoka starts when Kiyoko gets down on her hands and knees to crawl into the crawlspace with her. Kiyoko just puts her mouth in a firm line and ducks her head to avoid catching her hair on the broken boards. 

They don’t go very far in; even for a rabbit, there’s not a lot of space to maneuver under there. Hitoka creates a tiny light and Kiyoko uses a _catch-pull_  spell to lasso the wayward familiar. Of _course_ he can’t shake off actual witch magic as easily as her feeble attempts. She probably should have gotten one of the witches to help her to begin with, even one of the kids—

“Here you are,” Kiyoko says proudly as she passes off the bunny to Hitoka. The blonde nods, equal parts embarrassed and grateful, and they both wiggle backwards until they’re back out into the grass and daylight. They’re both covered in grass stains and mud, and Kiyoko has a smear of it across her forehead from where she’d swiped her bangs out of the way. 

“Sorry it got so messy,” Hitoka mumbles into the bunny’s fur. 

“I’m glad we caught him before Madoka got frustrated,” comes Kiyoko’s easy reply. Hitoka glances up, shyly, and is starstruck by the friendly little smile on Kiyoko’s face. 

Something strange flickers across Kiyoko’s expression, however, clouding her smile and Hitoka feels her own smile fall in response. Kiyoko dusts off her dress, adjusts her glasses once more, and Hitoka adjusts her grip on the squirming familiar just in time for Yui to burst out of the house, followed by a pale-haired boy that Hitoka has seen around the house but doesn’t think is a witch. “Kiyoko, _Kiyoko_ , you’d never guess what we just did!” Yui exclaims, breathless and a little squeaky, and she lands with a flounce on the grass beside the dark-haired girl. 

Hitoka sees the way Kiyoko’s expression softens once more—just a little something around her eyes and in the frame of her body—and she politely excuses herself to go return her mother’s familiar. 

 

 

 

(What Hitoka does not see: 

“And what trouble did you two get into now?” Kiyoko asks, amused despite her mostly straight face. “No broken bones this time, at least?” 

“Okay, so there was this bird, right? Except it _wasn’t_  a bird, it was this little _fairy thing_  and—hey, you okay?” Yui cuts herself off, mid-hand-gesture, and regards Kiyoko with a blink. 

“You look a little off,” the boy with them agrees. “Another vision?” 

“I suppose. It was just further out than what I’m used to. Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything bad. Pretty good, in fact,” Kiyoko replies and tucks a stray lock of Yui’s hair behind her ear as she plucks out a stray feather from it. “So, what happened with the fairy?” 

Yui and the boy both turn and look at the back door Hitoka had disappeared into. Kiyoko only shrugs. 

“Give it a few years,” she adds.

“Right, right, so there was this fairy thing…”) 


	41. ushiten: the experiences one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: mild ushiten  
> rating: pg maybe  
> summary: Tendou is still working on his knowledge of humans, and maybe Ushijima isn't the best person to ask. But the best new experiences are shared, right?

Tendou shrieks and jumps a foot straight in the air when the toaster pops up. “What the hell is _that_?!”

Wakatoshi blinks at him, slowly, over his mug. It’s too early for this. “It’s… breakfast?” he guesses. He’s sometimes frustratingly slow to wake up, and today seems to be one of those mornings. He’s not sure he can remember enough French to keep up should the matagot lapse into the language in his strange panic.

“Why did it jump?!” Tendou demands. He’s floating near the top of the cabinets, looking for all the world like a startled cat atop a refrigerator. Just minus the fridge. And feline qualities. Still, it’s an endearing sight. Probably. 

“I’m not sure why they jump.” Surely toasters don’t require so much force. Most of them _ding_  these days, too, so the sound isn’t necessary. Wakatoshi floats over his poptarts with a crook of his finger and stares down into his tea like it should answer him. 

“You’re not being very helpful,” Tendou tells him with a suspicious squint. 

“I’m answering your questions, though?” 

“Why don’t you know why they jump, then?!” 

“I guess I could try to find out for you,” Wakatoshi replies, although he doesn’t look forward to that. Should he google it? Go to a store that sells appliances? He doesn’t have many acquaintances in this city, and he’s not particularly close with his mother’s family, so he doesn’t want to call or text any of them. 

Tendou, now a fox, sneaks up onto his lap to steal the first two bites of each poptart. Wakatoshi just sighs. 

He finishes what’s left of his breakfast—sometimes, Tendou is pretty liberal with what constitutes a _bite—_ and gets dressed. He has errands to run today, and Tendou mutely curls into the space between his shirt and coat to accompany him. Wakatoshi is very used to the looks people give him for his fox scarf by now. It’s a clear, bright day, although still bitterly cold, so the extra body heat is appreciated. 

“Why do humans spend so much money and time on advertising things?” Tendou asks, cold nose pressing up against the bottom of Wakatoshi’s jaw. He’s doing it on purpose. Wakatoshi suppresses a grimace. “Humans just ignore it all. Look at you, I bet you couldn’t tell me what the sign we just passed said.”

“I guess they’re hoping for someone not to ignore it,” he replies. (It had been an advertisement for McDonalds.) 

“And why do humans get useless tattoos and piercings? I can understand gemstones and magic marks, but—” 

“They’re for decoration,” Wakatoshi flatly interrupts. Tendou noses against him again out of spite. “Art, or self-expression. Don’t spirits have the concept of either of those?” 

“Of course we do!” Tendou snaps, bristling. “I understand _art_ , for god’s sake,” he adds in that haughty _I Lived In France_   way he uses sometimes. Wakatoshi isn’t sure he’s conscious of it. “But humans are so short-lived. Why add something to their  _bodies_  when you just bury or burn them? Make something for others to use.” 

“You’re chatty today,” Wakatoshi says. 

“How old are you, Wakatoshi?” Tendou asks brightly. 

“Twenty-nine.” 

“Why don’t you know these things when you’re already so old?”

“Why don’t you know them when you’re so much older than I am?” Wakatoshi returns, and the fox around his neck bristles again for reasons he can’t understand. He’s just using his own logic, after all. 

For the rest of the morning, Tendou asks seemingly random, unconnected questions—“why do humans shave if they’re just going to put more clothing layers on?” “why did humanity decide on green, yellow, and red for street lights when so many humans are colorblind?” “why hasn’t humanity ever bothered to fully domesticate cats?”—and it slowly wears on Wakatoshi’s mood. Primarily because he has little idea of how to answer most of his questions. 

The last straw turned out to be, “What’s a bath bomb?” 

Wakatoshi turns on his heel in the store—he’d meant for this to be a quick visit for more lavender oil—and grabs the nearest on the pile. He doesn’t look at what it actually _is_  but buys it anyway, to Tendou’s snuffling confusion. 

Wakatoshi doesn’t answer him about his vocal curiosity about it until they get back to his place, and then he only goes into the bathroom and starts the water. The tub is small, but it’ll work. Tendou pops back up behind him, human-shaped and now a weight against his back as he tries to cajole him into more answers. “I understand that it’s related to baths, but what do they _do_? Why would someone want to attack a bathtub? That didn’t smell magical, so it—” 

Wakatoshi grabs him by the scruff of the neck and pushes him headfirst into the tub. 

Tendou splashes into the shallow, hot water, screeching like the annoyed fox he is, and Wakatoshi supposes he could have helped him undress first. Oh well. It’s strange to think he may have let his frustration get the better of himself. He usually tries not to allow that. 

Wakatoshi reaches into the tub to help him pull his half-wet shirt off, and Tendou stops growling long enough to let him. “You have a piss-poor sense of humor, you know that?” 

“Sorry,” Wakatoshi replies tonelessly. “You should take your pants off, though.” 

“Just trying to undress me, I knew it,” Tendou says with a dramatic sigh. 

Wakatoshi cocks his head to the side; he’d thought that much had been obvious. Tendou sighs again, this time a little more genuine, and wriggles out of his wet jeans. Wakatoshi winces at the wet _splat_  they make on the tile, but that can be cleaned up later. 

The tub is about half full by the time Tendou splashes back down, sitting in it, long limbs looking ridiculous in the small area. It looks even more ridiculous when Wakatoshi drops the blackberry bath bomb into the space between his legs. Tendou goes from unimpressed to a loud, echoing “ _ooh!_ ” in no time flat. 

He nudges the fizzling thing a couple times, then picks it up, ears pricked and eyes bright as he examines it. Weirdly, Wakatoshi finds himself smiling at the image. “The best way to figure out things like this is to experience them,” the witch tells him. 

Tendou sets the bath bomb back into the water and his tail gives a wet wag, smacking against the wall by his thigh. “Want to experience this with me, then?” he asks. 

“There’s barely enough room for you in there.” 

Tendou smirks, wide and sharp, and that’s all the warning there is before Wakatoshi is yanked face-first into the bathtub. Alright, maybe he deserved that. Due to the angle, he catches himself after a dunk and leans back out, but the damage is done and Tendou, a fox again, is howling with laughter on the far side of the tub. “You may as well join me now! You’re already soaked!” he titters, paws pressed coyly to his snout. 

Wakatoshi sighs and strips off the wet shirt. He’d heard these things are good for your skin, at least, and maybe he ought to add to his experiences as well.


	42. oisuga: the star wars one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied oisuga  
> rating: t for language  
> summary: Suga regrets agreeing to go to this movie marathon with Oikawa.

Suga yawns and shoves his hands further into his armpits to try to keep them warm. His breath puffs out in front of him in the wintry night air. He shuffles from foot to foot, too cold to even properly shiver anymore, and blinks blearily to attention when Tooru finally gets back. “I got the tickets!” he chirps, all illegal happy (genuine) smiles and sparkly eyes. 

Suga maintains that the devil himself had to be involved with the creation of Oikawa Tooru. 

“That’s so mean, Koushi,” Tooru sulks and drops his head to rub his cheek against Suga’s pale hair. His glasses dig into Suga’s scalp. “The line to get inside isn’t that much longer, and I already bought the tickets, even yours, _and_  I’ll buy the snacks, and honestly, you should be thanking me for this fun evening planned!” 

Oikawa Tooru’s idea of a fun evening: a local movie theater was playing all six of the  _Star Wars_  movies, in release order, back to back and starting at midnight. And, for _some fucking reason_ , Hanamaki and Matsukawa had already backed out. Which means that _for some other fucking reason_ , Suga was Tooru’s next pick as a movie buddy. 

“Are you cold?” Tooru asks and Suga squints up at him because that should be obvious and then some. “What happened to your coat?” 

“…Kelpie last week,” Suga mumbles. He yawns again and curls a little deeper into himself. It’s probably just below freezing, but he’s just in a hoodie and jeans and he already has a pretty pathetic body temperature, alright. He’s not too upset over being temporarily irritated; he tells himself that he’ll be happier about this once they’re inside and thawed. 

A weight settles over his shoulders, and it takes him a sleepy moment to realize that it’s Tooru’s parka. Tooru’s cheeks are already rosy with the cold, and he wraps his arms around himself, but he’s still smiling brightly. 

“You don’t have to -” 

“I’m not going to let my date freeze to death before the movies even start. Besides, you said you haven’t seen a couple of them. I’m not missing out on a _Star Wars_  virgin!” Tooru tells him in a light, bubbly voice that means he’s _not_  taking any arguments. 

Suga sighs and slips his arms into the sleeves of the heavy coat. Predictably, it’s huge on him. It’s almost a little big on Tooru. “…This is a date?” Suga asks and hides his suddenly warm face in the fur ruff around the collar. “I thought you wanted your friends to join you.” Suga’s fine playing second banana; he’s honestly still a little starstruck that _the_  Oikawa Tooru wants to hang out with him outside work at _all_. 

And oh god, he probably heard that. 

Sure enough, when Suga glances up at him, Tooru’s looking like the cat who got the canary. Great, just what he needs, more ego fodder. 

“Is there something wrong with that, Koushi?” Tooru asks and nearly _coos_  his name. 

Suga is still not used to hearing his given name come out of Tooru’s mouth. Maybe he should give back the coat and die with dignity in the cold. 

“C’mon, the line’s moving!” Tooru says suddenly and yanks Suga forward. Gone is the intimidatingly suave and terrifyingly attractive Tooru and back is the excited sci-fi puppy nerd Tooru. This one’s far easier to deal with. 

They make it inside without becoming human popsicles and Suga hands him back his coat. They pick their seats in the theater - they’d been early (waiting in line had been a _long_   and special hell) so they don’t have to schmooze too hard to get good ones - and Tooru leaves Suga in a nest of their things in their spot. 

Suga promptly curls up in the coat and falls asleep. 

He wakes up again to a cold cup pressed against his forehead and the _loud_  sound of the main movie theme over the yellow scrolling text. Suga jumps, nearly elbowing Tooru, and squints around the movie theater. God, this is _loud_ , how had he managed to sleep through it? 

Even Tooru seems mildly impressed by it. “C’mon, sleeping beauty, you haven’t seen this one.” 

“How do you know?” 

The psychic gives him a disappointed look.

Suga settles back into his warm parka nest and grudgingly takes the popcorn Tooru hands him. This is going to be a _long_  night.

Every few minutes, Tooru leans over to whisper some sort of trivia fact about the movie, and there are a few instances in which Suga is genuinely invested in the story that he can _feel_  Tooru’s excitement for. By the time the second (fifth?) movie begins, Suga has to admit, there’s a certain thrill to watching huge sci-fi epics in a theater, as opposed to curled up on a couch, as he’d first suggested. 

After the end of the second movie, and Suga’s fighting to stay awake despite the admittedly interesting plot, Tooru puts an arm around his shoulders and, with a perfectly charming and confident smirk that makes Suga’s heart trip over itself, tells him, “They’re playing all the _Star Trek_  movies next month. Interested, Koushi?” 

Suga is exhausted, somewhat certain he sustained frostbite in his toes, and is beginning to get a headache from all the movies back to back. He is also admittedly smitten by the excited sci-fi puppy nerd. “Are you buying the snacks again?” 

“And dinner,” Tooru says with a wink. 

“Maybe I can be dragged out again,” Suga says, airily, but they both know he’ll go. 

(He does not end up going, laid up in the hospital with broken ribs and a punctured lung from a fight with a karkadann. (Yuu isn’t much better, and Suga is certain they’re both going to jump out a window if they have to stay in the hospital for too much longer.) Tooru misses the _Star Trek_  movie marathon, too, and instead spends the night curled up in the too-small hospital bed with Suga, playing the first _Star Trek_  series on his laptop for them since Suga had mentioned never seeing them.

There’s not enough room and every little jostle makes Suga wince, but Tooru is warm, at least, and has just as many _Star Trek_  factoids as _Star Wars_  ones.) 


	43. ot4: the dress one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroakaken(+bo just a lil)   
> rating: t  
> summary: Akaashi buys a new [dress](http://www.cosypajamas.com/uploadfile/products/20121104/French-Maid-Dress-Costume-MD015.jpg) and Kenma and Kuroo can't quite believe it.

“What are you wearing,” Kenma says, not quite asks, voice hitching the tiniest bit. It’s that little beat that causes Kuro to take notice, and after a confused glance at Kenma, he, too, looks up at Akaashi in the doorway. And his mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“It’s… a dress?” Akaashi responds. Kuro can tell they already know something is off, but they don’t seem uncomfortable in the least in the _maid dress_  they’re wearing. (Kuro blinks a couple times, then rubs at his eyes for good measure. This seems a little like the nicer dreams he’s been starting to have.) The dress is actually fairly in-line with what human clothes they’ve seen Akaashi in; it’s black on white, a little on the proper side, and the skirt falls about halfway down their feathered thighs, so not even the shortest thing they’ve seen Akaashi in. 

But it’s frilly. It’s so perfectly frilly, with little ruffles coming off of the straps holding the black apron, and the edge of the skirt is ruffled, too, adding even more volume and accentuating how the waist is so neatly tucked in. Akaashi fiddles, just briefly, with the buttons going up the chest of the dress, stark black against crisp white, and then sighs. 

“What’s wrong with the dress,” Akaashi deadpans. 

“Nothing,” Kuro says quickly, because Kenma is still speechless (and quite red in the face). “I-It, um, looks like it fits you… well.” 

“You’re a terrible liar. Kenma, what’s wrong with the dress?” Akaashi says mercilessly and half-turns to show their total dismissal of Kuro’s input. It’d hurt more if Kuro weren’t so distracted by the cuffs of the short sleeves and how they rested against the tawny feathers of their wings. 

Kenma swallows and turns hastily back to his 3ds. 

Akaashi makes an impatient noise, talons clacking on the floor from where they tap their feet for good measure. 

“It’s… a specific kind of dress,” Kenma eventually forces out. 

“I wasn’t told anything specific about this, other than it’s a subset of current fashions.” Which is normally what Akaashi wears, minus the whole sexy angle. Akaashi glances down at the dress again, now more uncomfortable than ever, and Kuro wishes he weren’t so clumsy with his words so he could prevent Akaashi from taking it off and probably burning it. 

Akaashi gives Kuro another cool look, but the demon can see the unease beneath it; they’re wondering why _Kuro_  knows this particular human fashion thing and  _they_  don’t. Akaashi isn’t quite as bad as Bokuto when it comes to human cultures, and admittedly Kuro has since outpaced them both, but once in awhile, he thinks Akaashi gets a little insecure about that knowledge gap. 

(Kuro knows about the beauty of maid dresses thanks to a lot of “accidental” internet porn searches and a rather fun adventure trying to catch a love spirit. Kenma hadn’t been particularly happy with either. Maybe, in hindsight, he'd just been embarrassed.)

“I didn’t mean to wear anything odd,” Akaashi mumbles, and turns to leave. 

“Wait.” 

And it’s _Kenma_  who panicked first and told them to stay. Kuro can barely restrain a smirk. 

Kenma looks like he wants to eat his words and doesn’t look up at Akaashi again, instead chewing on his lip in a manner quite distracting on its own. “You… Your bow is tied a little crookedly,” Kenma eventually says, voice soft with embarrassment, but Kuro hears the little strain in it that he knows means Kenma is rather into this. Surprisingly into this. (He also halfheartedly wonders if Akaashi is good enough at Kenma Things yet to have heard that. He doubts it.) 

Kenma gets up, passing off his 3ds to Kuro, and Akaashi meets him halfway. Akaashi tilts their chin back to let Kenma have better access to the black bow there, and Kuro quickly closes the handheld and wonders if it’d be a good idea to join them. Kenma’s certainly standing closer than strictly necessary, and Kuro can see on Akaashi’s face that they know that. They just don’t know _why_ ; he takes note of the little scrunch of confusion in their brow, and the way they keep glancing from the top of Kenma’s head over to Kuro and back again.

Kenma’s fingers work fast and nimble, yet he somehow manages to take his time untying the uneven bow without making it _seem_ like it. (Kuro wishes he could take notes.) Akaashi opens their mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. This repeats a few more times before they quietly ask, “Is the dress that embarrassing?” 

Kenma’s pink cheeks seem to be answer enough, but he has the good grace to nod, too. 

“For me?” Akaashi continues. 

Kenma shakes his head, more firmly this time. 

“…For you?” Akaashi surmises. 

Kenma’s fingers miss the loop he’s trying to make. Kuro decides he’s had enough; he slinks over and Akaashi almost jumps when Kuro settles his hands on their waist. “It’s not embarrassing,” Kuro tells them, grinning reassuringly (he hopes) when Akaashi looks back over their shoulder at him, “It looks really good on you. _Really_  good. That’s it.” 

“It’s a sexual thing,” Akaashi mutters in realization, irritated, and glances down at the dress as if trying to figure out _why_. Their chin knocks against Kenma’s fingers and Kenma stills. 

“…It’s not,” Kenma says. “Not directly. It’s more… by implication. Probably.” 

Akaashi slowly tilts their head back once more to give Kenma room, but there’s still a rather indignant slant to their mouth and squint to their eyes. “You look good,” Kuro repeats. His voice comes out a little lower, a little huskier than intended, and Akaashi’s eyes dart over to him and narrow further. But now, Kuro can see the slight flush that’s beginning to spread over the tengu’s face. “It’s nothing incriminating, Keiji, so don’t worry. It’s just a maid dress.” 

“Maid?” Akaashi asks. They don’t even react to the usage of the human name, which is a pity, because Kuro had been hoping for that to be a Thing. “What does cleaning have to do with—” 

“It’s not the cleaning, Keiji,” Kenma interrupts, and that time, Kuro hears the sharp little intake of breath coming with the name. Unfair. Kenma scrunches his nose, momentarily frustrated himself, and Kuro wonders if it’s about the bow until he adds, “I’m not sure what it is. It’s just something that’s developed and represented sexuality and it’s just something… really nice to look at.” Kenma finally raises his eyes, done re-tying the bow, and meets Akaashi’s gaze without fear but with plenty of red on his face. “Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” Akaashi breathes just as Kenma stands up on the tips of his toes to kiss them. 

Kuro’s hands tighten on Akaashi’s waist, digging into the soft fabric there, and he takes a moment to simply be _thankful_  that this happened at all. Probably the best cultural misunderstanding he’s ever gotten to be a part of. 

Either Kenma or Akaashi makes a little sound and next think Kuro knows, Akaashi has shifted in his grasp enough to stare—nearly _glare—_ up at him. There’s a definite pink tint to their cheeks now and Kuro notices that the re-tied bow is actually more crooked than before, but then Akaashi demands, “What excuse do _you_  have?” 

“Excuse me?” Kuro asks, taken aback. Kenma, that traitor, stifles a giggle in Akaashi’s sleeve on their other side. 

“You knew about this? The maid thing?” 

“Oh, well, yeah.” 

“He looks for porn about it,” Kenma flatly adds. 

“So it _is_  a sexual thing—” 

“It _can_ be,” Kuro says with a half-defensive shrug. “But like Kenma said, not directly. It’s more about the person _wearing_  the dress.” He congratulates himself on being pretty damn smooth as he slides his hands back around Akaashi, this time down on their hips, dipping underneath the apron and feeling the soft white ruffles beneath it. 

“You have a kink,” Akaashi says with an unfair note of finality. 

“Why aren’t you telling _Kenma_  that?” Kuro asks with a sigh. Why can’t he get the cute, close kissing part? 

“You _both_ have a kink and I can’t believe I’m going along with it,” Akaashi relents and yanks Kuro down by his hair for a kiss. It’s more forceful than the one with Kenma, and he can’t help but groan at the iron grip on his hair, even if Akaashi’s teeth are rather sharp on his lips.   

Akaashi’s breath hitches against his mouth. Kuro pulls back, half for breath and half out of confusion, and finds Kenma curiously sliding his hands up the skirt of the dress, up against the tight part of the apron at Akaashi’s waist. “You never wear anything underneath your dresses,” Kenma comments, not a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“The point of wearing them is to _not_ ,” Akaashi retorts before Kuro pulls them back in for another kiss. 

And then, in a move that has Kuro wondering if he’s pissed off Tsukishima or Yaku recently, they’re all interrupted by the sound of the front door banging open and Bokuto’s loud, “ _Akaashi_  I talked to the salesclerk and I _told you_ that one was a sexy one!” 

Kenma pulls his hands from beneath Akaashi’s skirt and Kuro draws back to cock his head to the side. Akaashi drops their head to rest against Kuro’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. “…You knew about the dress,” Kenma says slowly.

“I didn’t know the full details. I had an inkling it was _something_  to humans, though, yes,” Akaashi says with another heavy sigh. “I honestly did not expect that sort of reaction.” 

Bokuto finds them in the bedroom, Kuro laughing against Akaashi’s hair and Kenma shunning them both in the beanbag in the corner. “You already put it on? Looks like Kuroo likes it, nice,” Bokuto says and gives them both an awkward, clawed thumbs-up. 

Kuro’s laugh dies in his throat and Kenma peeks back over his 3ds when they realize that, apparently, Bokuto also saw fit to purchase and wear a maid dress. 

Except the bonus there is that he also managed to find toeless and heelless stockings to fit over his feet and managed to get them just over his knees, feathers only slightly ruffled. He breaks into a proud and bright grin when he takes in their reactions. “We found a store that said it had a lot of clothes that humans liked! And I recognized this one from that video Kuroo showed me—”

“ _Bir gün beni öldürecek_ ,” Kuro groans. 

Kenma, face crimson, shakily raises his 3ds like a very futile shield. Akaashi huffs a laugh against Kuro’s neck and winds their arms around his waist, walking them both a step backward until Kuro’s back hits the wall. Bokuto shares one last grin with them before walking over and plopping down in front of Kenma. “You’re sharing videos with Koutarou and not with me?” Akaashi sweetly inquires. 

“You just rolled your eyes the last time I tried—”

“How about you show me how the video went.” 

They are _definitely_  going to kill him yet. But he’s not going to complain. 


	44. kuroaka: the grooming one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroaka (with a bit of bokuken bc who doesn't like bokuken)  
> rating: t for a teensy bit of sexiness  
> summary: Kuroo is still getting the hang of tengu grooming. Keiji has patience, though.

“Like this?” Kuroo asks, movements steady but something still unsure in his eyes, despite how many reassurances he’s had about this. 

“You’re doing fine,” Keiji tells him. It’s probably about the seventeenth time. This would be far more relaxing if they could just sink into it, but Kuroo really isn’t letting them, and Keiji isn’t certain how to fix it since they’re mainly used to Koutarou Reassurances, not demonic ones. 

“They’re so soft,” Kuroo murmurs, mostly to himself. Keiji allows a small smile and closes their eyes as they tilt their head back against Kuroo’s shoulder. He does not complain about the angle—Keiji isn’t certain any tengu would be caught dead preening another with said tengu seated in the other’s lap—but they suppose Kuroo doesn’t really know any better. 

And he doesn’t have the same knee joints as tengu, either. 

Keiji runs their free hand down Kuroo’s thigh to his knee, quietly enamored, as always, by the soft hair and smooth, olive skin. Human—even demon—skin seems so soft, and glamors can’t compare. Add into the mix that it’s _Kuroo_ , who is frankly unfairly attractive even for a human (appearance) and seems hilariously _unaware_  of the extent of his sway over them, and Keiji certainly can’t be blamed for wanting as much skin contact as possible. Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind it in the least. 

Kuroo runs his claws down through another pair of pinions, separating out the little catches and smoothing them out with too-gentle movements. Keiji appreciates the lack of yanking on their feathers (sometimes, Koutarou can get a little overenthusiastic or distracted), but they halfway wonder if Kuroo maybe doesn’t realize that tengu have claws, too, and are used to this sort of thing. 

Keiji doesn’t bother bringing it up. It had taken enough coaxing just to get Kuroo to give up human fingers to do this; they don’t want to make Kuroo even more insecure in grooming than he already is. And besides, this is plenty nice. 

Kuroo runs his claws down to the end of that pair of flight feathers and gently traces his way back up to the softer, smaller ones lining their arm. He seems especially fascinated by those, even if he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Keiji lets him run his fingers through them a few times like he’s petting a cat or dog, since it doesn’t feel unpleasant. 

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Keiji compliments and that, finally, seems to ease a portion of the demon’s insecurities. Kuroo flashes them a grin and picks out the next pinion to work on. Keiji shifts their wing so he can access it better, and shifts in Kuroo’s lap as well. Kuroo and Kenma may be able to sit cross-legged easily, and this is actually a surprisingly comfortable seat for Keiji, but their own legs still are awkwardly bent. 

And, in moving backward, Keiji notices something _else_. Kuroo abruptly stills and sucks in a quick, short breath. 

“Are you _hard_?” Keiji bluntly asks. They’re not sure whether to be surprised, or confused, or exasperated, but most of all, they don’t want Kuroo to swear off grooming altogether because of some sort of mishandling of this situation. 

“Well, you keep making these breathy little sounds, and you’re _wiggling around_  in my lap,” Kuroo huffs, face reddening, and it’d be endearing if Keiji had a better grasp of how to respond. 

“…Grooming is—” 

“Intimate, but not sexual, yeah, I _got_  that,” Kuroo interrupts. He sounds frustrated with himself now, and he drops Keiji’s wing. 

“I’m just surprised,” Keiji admits. “I’m not upset.” 

Kuroo doesn’t respond. There’s the edge of a pout to his mouth, almost Kenma-like, and Keiji still isn’t quite sure how to defuse this. Koutarou, they can handle, but it’s a new learning curve to this demon and the witch and Keiji is tired of these unexpected hurdles. 

“Would you like me to take care of it?” Keiji offers. 

Kuroo’s attention is back on their face at once; he’s still red in the cheeks but there’s a serious furrow to his brow. “Grooming is a bird thing, you don’t have to worry about me.” 

Keiji is going to hit him one of these days for his continued use of _bird_  as a descriptor for tengu activities. But not now. “This is an activity about being _together_ ,” Keiji patiently corrects, and maybe they wiggle just a little bit extra in Kuroo’s lap in order to turn to better face him. “I’d be lying if I said Koutarou and I didn’t have sex after grooming sometimes.” 

“That’s just Bo.” It’s a guess, but it’s an accurate one, and the corner of Kuroo’s mouth quirks up when he realizes he’s right. “We can go back to the wings, if you want. I’ll be fine, nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.” 

He leans down and kisses Keiji on the tip of their nose. The sweet gesture soothes the irritation Keiji feels when Kuroo easily picks them up and settles them back firmly between his thighs with their back to his chest. 

“Wing out, please,” Kuroo adds.

So Keiji is just supposed to ignore the hardness pressing into their lower back? Very unlikely, not to mention ruder than they’re feeling right now. 

Keiji braces against Kuroo and slowly extends one of their legs. Their skirt rides up on their thigh. Kuroo’s breath catches again. “…You know, I have other feathers that need grooming as well,” Keiji points out, not a trace of teasing in their tone, but Kuroo makes a small sound deep in his chest anyway. 

“W-Well, it’d be a faux pas not to be thorough, right?” 

Keiji smiles. 

 

-–

 

“How was the grooming session?” Kenma asks. He doesn’t look up at them, at least, although they don’t exactly paint the most innocent picture; Keiji knows their feathers are  _more_  ruffled than before, and at some point, Kuroo’s shorts had accidentally gotten torn up one leg. Keiji isn't sure where his shirt ended up. Koutarou laughs behind his hand. 

Usually he’d be more teasing, or, at the very least, _louder_. Keiji raises an eyebrow. Koutarou normally melts when properly groomed, and Kenma _has_  been doing this longer than Kuroo, but he’s at a disadvantage with blunt human fingers and a shorter reach. Yet Koutarou is practically a puddle, hell, practically _purring_ , and Kenma is contentedly running his little fingers through the base of the flight feathers he can reach. 

“It was fun,” Kuroo says with a sheepish laugh. “Educational, maybe? You two look like you’ve got the routine down better than we do, though.” 

Kenma responds by holding up three fingers. Koutarou sleepily holds up four. Keiji’s eyebrow inches higher. 

Kuroo just cocks his head to one side. “Hah? That how many feathers you’ve gotten done so far?” Kenma is the one seated in Koutarou’s lap with the tengu’s wings wrapped around him, which is probably easier for them but likely means Kenma can’t reach the ends of his feathers very well, so it’s probably a minor miracle Koutarou’s enjoying this so much. 

“Orgasms,” Kenma replies shortly. 

Ah. 

Koutarou gives them both another pleased smile and rubs his cheek on the top of Kenma’s head. Kenma smiles, brief and small, when he succeeds in adjusting a couple of badly interlocked feathers. 

Keiji sighs and pinches the bridge of their nose. There goes any hope for convincing Kuroo that this is _honestly_  not meant to be a sexual thing. 

…Oh well. 

Kuroo laughs in disbelief and throws his arms around Keiji’s shoulders. “Looks like we have some catching up to do. Want to start in on that other wing?” 


	45. daisuga: the cheesy one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: pg for the usual salty language  
> summary: As usual, there are stumbles in their attempts at romance. As usual, they don't let it faze them.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so cheesy,” Suga says, grin full and bright across his face, although it’s not like Daichi can keep the smile off his face, either. “I  _shouldn’t_  be! But wow, Daichi.” 

“Don’t pretend like you’re not soaking this up like a sponge,” Daichi teases right back. 

“But Daichi…” Suga says, looking down at the flowers held out to him. Daichi doesn’t like that tone. That tone is a Suga Knows Something Daichi Doesn’t (And Daichi Won’t Like It) tone. “Those are capers.” 

“I know that much,” Daichi replies. Once bitten, twice shy—he’s _not_  going to take Oikawa Tooru’s advice about flowers again without knowing the name of what he’s giving his boyfriend. “And I know you can eat them, but that’s not the point, either. Plus, plenty of plants I’ve seen you use are edible—”

“No, it’s not that,” Suga says. He looks down at the flowers, _finally_  taking them, and brings them up to his face to try to hide his progressively more smirk-like grin. Daichi wants to go back to the pink-cheeked innocent surprise. “Caper flowers are for potency and lust. Did you _really_  ask for Tooru’s help again?” 

Daichi groans. He _knew_  it had been too easy. He’d thought the trick to it had been the edible part—haha, he knew enough to track down _flowers_  and not the buds or berries—and they had certainly looked romantic enough. They're _pretty_. Shouldn't he get points for that? “I’m never going to be able to just give you flowers, am I?” 

“I like them,” Suga says quickly. The warmth is back in his smile and he looks down at the white flowers with unmistakable fondness. “They’re very pretty. I’ve never gotten flowers just because they’re pretty before, so it’s actually kind of refreshing.” 

“You’re not going to tease me about this?” Daichi asks, perhaps a little surprised himself. 

“Well, I’m going to tease you about the fact that you missed the obvious _roses_.” Suga sets the little bouquet down on the counter behind him, and Sunshine leaps up onto the counter to sniff curiously at it. 

“I thought there’d be some secret catch to them and you’d still laugh.” 

“I didn’t laugh.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Daichi concedes. Suga’s smile dips into almost overwhelming fondness once more and he plucks one of the flowers from the bunch. He breaks off most of the stem, then reaches over and tucks it behind Daichi’s ear. Daichi isn’t sure whether he’s blushing because of Suga’s focus now back on him with that same level of love, or if it’s just from the move itself. Either way, his face sure feels warm right about now. He expected this to go a little more smoothly on his end. 

Why did he expect that? They’ve been together long enough that he certainly should know better. 

“Thank you,” Suga says and tilts his head up to kiss Daichi on the cheek. Suga pulls away, but Daichi catches him with a hand at the back of his head to hold him still enough for him to kiss him back, lips pressed squarely over the mole by his eye. Suga scrunches his nose, adorably, as he always does and he chuckles as he pushes Daichi away. “You big sap.” 

“I don’t think you really can complain.” 

“No, I can’t,” he agrees. Suga winds his arms around Daichi’s waist and pecks him again on the cheek. He ducks under Daichi’s attempt at a repeat with another laugh, but Daichi catches him. 

Daichi has a hand on either side of his face, squishing his cheeks _just_  a little to annoy him, and places a loud _smack_  of a kiss against Suga’s bangs. Suga squirms, not really trying to get away but trying valiantly to restrain his laughter, and Daichi moves down to peck the tip of his nose. 

He skips Suga’s mouth entirely and instead kisses his chin, and then moves a hand so he can kiss that beauty mark once more. Suga’s face is past pink and delightfully red now, and Daichi feels nothing but warmth and adoration filling his chest. It’s almost  _too_  cute. _They’re_  too cute. He’s so fucking happy they get to be. 

“Are you taking this in any specific direction,” Suga begins, squeezing Daichi’s hips, “or is this just going to be a big cheesy _thing_  in my kitchen?” 

“You started this with the flower thing,” Daichi tells him and kisses him on his other cheek, just for good measure. 

Suga lets go of Daichi to grab the bouquet from behind him (pulling it away from Sunshine in the process, who’d been trying to chew on one) and smacks Daichi with another caper flower. “I’ll give you an entire flower crown with your lust-filled flowers if I want, Sawamura.” 

“So you want me to be full of lust and virility?” Daichi asks, grinning lecherously, and yanks Suga back flush against him. 

“I said _potency_ , not virility. Technically.” 

“I know enough flower talk to think that it’s the same thing when applied to men, Suga.” 

“Well. That’s true,” Suga admits with a little shrug. He tucks another flower behind Daichi’s other ear, just to be a shit, although he doesn’t break the over-long stem off. It tickles the side of his neck but he ignores it for now. “What a big, strong, virile specimen of a man,” Suga tells him in a perfect deadpan. “Who brought me flowers and only gives me the cutest of smooches. So very manly.” 

“We can do the macho routine if that’s what you’re digging for,” Daichi replies with another light peck against Suga’s hair. “But you know I like the cutesy shit. And I know _you_  like it, too.” 

“Of course I do. Even when the flowers are wrong.” 

Daichi releases Suga in order to pull the long-stemmed flower out from behind his ear and scratch the itch on his neck. He breaks the stem off, tries to replace it, and doesn’t quite fit it right, so it keeps falling. Suga gives him a knowing look and takes it from him. 

“What did you have in mind, then,” Suga says, twirling the flower between his fingers, lashes low as he looks down at it, “about tonight? I’m fine staying in with you, of course, but it seems like you have a plan.” 

“It still involves staying in, unless you want to go out.” 

Suga shakes his head, so Daichi leaves him momentarily to dig around in his jacket, hanging on the hook by the door. He comes back with his phone and Suga raises an eyebrow. 

“We can order that horribly unhealthy greasy stuff you love so much for food. But otherwise, the only other thing I wanted from tonight is for you to teach me to dance,” Daichi announces. 

Both of his eyebrows disappear behind his bangs now. “Dance?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I can _barely_  dance, Daichi—” 

“That’s bull and you know it. I’ve _seen_  you and Oikawa.” 

“Tooru’s the one leading, and compared to him, I’m definitely a beginner,” Suga exclaims in exasperation. 

“You’re still a better dancer than me,” Daichi patiently points out. Suga sighs, then nods. “So. Please? It doesn’t have to be anything particularly fancy, but if you ever drag me to a formal event again, it’d be nice to _almost_ know what I’m doing.” 

“You’re doing the puppy dog eyes,” Suga says, face pinched in his (futile) attempt to stop himself from smiling. 

“I am not,” Daichi replies, the picture of innocence.

“You’re giving me that sad look, and you’re already _so_  fucking sweet tonight, and you know I can’t actually say no to you.” That’s certainly a problem they both share. Suga laughs helplessly and runs a hand back through his light hair. “I don’t really know how to teach anyone?” 

“It’s just me, Koushi,” Daichi replies. He can _see_  the way Suga melts. Alright, maybe he _is_  playing his boyfriend like a fiddle. It’s fair play, considering Suga lives and breathes Casual Daichi Manipulation. 

“Fine,” Suga says and holds his arms out. “You get to be the leader, I’m the follower. Take responsibility, Daichi.” 

Daichi steps up to him, but he doesn’t quite understand what Suga wants him to do with his arms. He stands there for a moment before Suga grabs his hands and positions him how he wants: one hand held out and clasping Suga’s, the other one pressed to Suga’s ribs just beneath his arm. Suga’s other hand is on Daichi’s shoulder, and he gives it a squeeze as he grins. 

They shuffle away from the counter; there isn’t a lot of space in Suga’s apartment, but at least the living room is a better dance floor than anything else. Suga brings their arms up into the frame that he remembers seeing from him and Tooru, although it seems a little awkward to Daichi. 

“What exactly did you want to learn?” Suga asks, belatedly, and Daichi notices that despite their proximity, he hasn’t quite met his eye yet. He’s staring at a point just over Daichi’s shoulder, over his hand. “I don’t know that much—” 

“Suga, you’re _fine_ ,” Daichi says, because he recognizes the tenseness in Suga’s shoulders. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s just… a little embarrassing. And I don’t really know what I’m doing.” 

Suga claims not to know what he’s doing on ninety percent of his jobs, and Daichi has seen him come out successful from every single one of them. Daichi doesn’t really believe those words from Suga, and his expression must show it, because Suga finally meets his eyes with a little pout. 

“Okay, it’s difficult to know what to teach you when I’m the _follower_. That means I have to teach everything in reverse, and I still only know half a dozen dances, and—“ 

“How about a waltz,” Daichi quickly suggests. He doesn’t even _know_  half a dozen types of dances, but he knows Suga can waltz. 

He still isn’t certain about asking Suga to do this—the cute-turned-intimate-turned-maybe-passionate image in his mind is slowly crumbling because of Suga’s focus on doing a good job at this—but Suga, for all his insecurities, hasn’t actually balked yet. That counts for something. 

“Alright, so the basic of any dance is a box. Waltz is like… No, wait.” Suga barely tugs on Daichi’s arms to get him to move before he’s frowning and looking down at their feet. “Start with your left foot. Always. And I go backwards with my right.” 

“Okay,” Daichi replies, and they start again. 

They get one step down, at least, before Daichi doesn’t quite get the rhythm Suga is trying to tug him into. After that, Suga starts counting aloud, and Daichi realizes that this is Try Hard time. 

Not that Daichi doesn’t _want_  to learn how to dance from Suga. He does, he absolutely does, because while Tooru and Suga look _very_  good together on the dance floor, he’d  _really_ , honestly like to maybe one day attempt the same thing with him. 

_But_. He’s also sort of hoped this would feel a little more _romantic_  and a little less… teacher-y. Suga is clearly not used to teaching in reverse, either, and while Daichi doesn’t blame him for tugging him around like a puppeteer with his puppet, he also doesn’t understand how Suga couldn’t explain a _little_  of this before pulling on him. It isn’t quite frustrating, thankfully, and they can laugh off little mistakes and Daichi mercifully only steps on Suga’s foot _once_. Truly a minor miracle. 

“You know, I have music on my phone,” Daichi admits after a whole, successful box. (Mostly successful.)

Suga glances up at him, mid-count. “That… might make this easier,” he sheepishly admits. 

Daichi lets go of Suga’s hand to go back to the kitchen counter to save his phone from Sunshine as well. The cat doesn’t seem so interested in it when it starts playing music, at least, so Daichi decides it’ll be fine to just leave it there. Suga is making another face at the song—probably going to tease Daichi about his taste in music for the millionth time—but Daichi just comes back and grabs Suga’s hand again, totally straight-faced. 

Although it’s a quiet in the apartment, _Can’t Help Falling In Love With You_  plays soft and clear for them. Sunshine drops down onto the floor again with a _thud_  and, after a judgmental meow, slithers past them to disappear beneath the couch. 

“Daichi,” Suga says, twining their fingers together, “this isn’t a waltz.” 

Daichi huffs out a laugh through his nose. “We can’t just… fake it or something? I don’t know what kinds of dances my phone has on it.” 

“I can’t count to this song,” Suga maintains, pouting again. “Switch dances or switch songs.” 

“How about,” Daichi begins, dropping his frame and instead settling his hands on Suga’s hips. Suga makes a questioning sound as Daichi gets them both moving, little steps and rocking motions, pressed together tight. “We just do this?” 

“How high school,” Suga replies and winds his arms around Daichi’s neck. “I love it. Less effort.” 

They slowdance together like teenagers in Suga’s quiet living room. Daichi wishes his phone were louder, at least until he catches Suga humming along to the song. That gives him an idea. 

“Take my hand,” Daichi sings. He keeps himself quiet, scared of breaking the mood and alright, he’s probably not the best singer in the world, but Suga looks at him like he’s the eighth wonder regardless. 

And immediately joins in. 

“Take my whole life too,” they sing, together, even if Suga presses his face in against Daichi’s neck in embarrassment. It muffles his voice, but not so much that Daichi can’t hear him. 

They don’t last until the next song before they’re too busy kissing to continue trying to serenade each other. It works out, anyway. 

They always seem to. Together. 


	46. yamaguchi: the hospital one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: none  
> rating: pg for language and sads  
> summary: Hospital visits are a unique kind of loneliness, until, against all odds, Tadashi makes a friend.

Tadashi picks at the food in front of him. He’s not hungry, of course, he’s pretty damn sure he hasn’t been properly hungry in _weeks—_ but his mom had asked him to eat. So he went down to the cafeteria to spend money he shouldn’t on food he won’t eat just to give her peace of mind. 

The entire place still stinks like a hospital, even with the added smell of food. It honestly makes it smell worse. 

Tadashi sniffs and rubs at his nose with his sleeve. _The smell, right_. He feels so pathetic; he’s sitting here struggling not to cry in a packed mess hall, and he _should_  be eating because he’s losing a lot of weight and he’s only making his mother worry  _more_  and that’s the last thing she needs. He’s a mess. He should _not_  be worrying her further. 

He sniffs snottily again and rolls around something he think might be a tiny dumpling on his tray. He should be shoving this down his throat so he can go back upstairs to be with her. His aunt is working today, so she won’t be able to stop by, so that means he’ll be his mother’s only visitor, barring some old coworker. 

But they’ve been stopping by less and less frequently, as she started getting sicker and sicker. 

Someone plops down onto the bench next to him and the tray they’re holding makes a loud _clack_  as it’s set down. Tadashi feels like he jumps out of his skin, and he shakily looks up to find a man with light hair and a wide, kind smile. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says without preamble. 

_Stranger danger?_  Tadashi wonders, nervous and still a little skittish, but he already feels jarred out of his mood. So that’s something. “U-Um. Okay…” he replies faintly and turns his attention down to his untouched food. 

“I’ve seen you around the cancer ward,” the man says, tapping his spoon against his bowl. “Family?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Me too,” he says like it’s an offering. It _does_ help Tadashi feel a little better about his sudden company. 

The man doesn’t say much else, only sips at his soup while scrolling through his phone, clearly trying to give Tadashi some space. His hair is sandy blond, rod-straight and a little messy, and he’s probably out of college age, if Tadashi had to guess. Handsome, relatively young, and clearly dealing with the whole Relative With Cancer thing  _far_  better than Tadashi is. 

Tadashi, feeling awkward, takes a few bites of his food just to avoid the heavy silence. His stomach churns, but he supposes it’s in gratitude for feeding it something. He hopes. 

The man finishes his own meal and shoots Tadashi another warm smile. “I’ll see you again, probably. Thanks for the company.” 

“O-Oh, yes. Thanks,” Tadashi mumbles and the man departs. 

He sees him again the next day, too, and he comes over with his food once more. Tadashi isn’t so taken aback now, and they introduce themselves—the man’s name is Tsukishima Akiteru, and it’s his little brother in the ward. 

“He’s about your age, probably. High school, right?” Akiteru asks, and Tadashi nods. Not that he’s been _going_  to school much lately. “It’s a little depressing to see two kids your age there, even if you’re not one of the patients. But, hey, this place is the best in the city, right?” 

Tadashi nods again. 

It starts a sort of tradition between the two of them. It’s not daily, but a couple times a week in which they’d find each other and try to eat down in the cafeteria. With the company, Tadashi has to admit he’s feeling a _little_  better about his near-constant visits, and Akiteru is a surprising bright spot against the dreary backdrop of the hospital. 

Tadashi tells him a little bit about himself, too—he’s an only child, and his mother raised him herself, and now they both have Tadashi’s aunt visiting to help take care of things. Akiteru admits with a sheepish laugh that he’s the one taking care of his brother, too, as well as their pet. (An albino ferret named either Yukihime or Sadie, and Tadashi doesn’t quite get the story behind the two names aside from the fact that it involves a younger version of his brother and some children’s book.) 

A couple weeks into their unlikely friendship, and they start sharing pictures. Or, rather, Akiteru does. The man seems to be a perpetual fountain of pictures of his brother, although a good chunk of them seem to be of him as a toddler or hardly in grade school; several times, Tadashi has to remind himself that he and this mysterious brother are supposed to be the same age. Akiteru comes off as more than a little doting, and he’s an unrelenting optimistic front beneath that. 

It’s nice. Tadashi doesn’t dread hospital visits so much if he can sit with Akiteru or even just wave at him from down the hall. 

He doesn’t go snooping, although he knows the family name, because if he’s up in the ward then he’s usually attached to his mother’s side. 

(But he _is_  a little curious about Akiteru’s brother.) 

His mother and aunt eventually gang up on him and cajole him into attending school regularly again, so his visits move toward the evenings. He doesn’t see Akiteru quite so often after that, although still often enough that it doesn’t become another sad spot in a long string of sad spots. 

His mother gradually improves. She’s responding well to chemo, even if Tadashi hates the toll it has on her, but there are a few visits home that he can tell boosts her spirits. And his, if he’s being honest with himself. He doesn’t see how his mother _or_  Akiteru can seem so unrelentingly cheery _all_  the time. It exhausts him to even put up a front for a little while. 

It’s one evening during a summer thunderstorm that Tadashi and his aunt get a call. 

They rush to the hospital, sopping wet and, in Tadashi’s case, already crying. _No, not yet, she was just doing so well_ , he tells himself, over and over. He doesn’t know who to beg or what to pray for, but he just knows that it _can’t_  be time yet. The doctors haven’t been optimistic—certainly not as optimistic as his mother has been—but she had been  _improving_ , goddamnit. 

When they finally arrive at her room and speak to the doctor, they find that it was a minor allergic reaction to a different medication she had just been switched to. They caught it in time, and she’s already been switched back, and all that had happened was a sudden, alarming drop in blood pressure. 

But now it’s okay. 

Tadashi waits out in the hall and cries out of sheer relief. He’s not mad for the mistake, nor is he upset for getting called about an emergency—he’s just too happy that she’ll _be okay_. It’s the luckiest break he could imagine when twenty minutes ago he’d been worrying if he’d have to start saying his last goodbyes or something. To his _mother_. He can’t do that. 

He spots Akiteru down the hall and he gives the man a wave with an honest grin. Akiteru hardly seems to notice him, and it’s not until he’s almost passing Tadashi that he seems to register his presence. Tadashi doesn’t question, initially, why Akiteru is there so late; instead, he just exclaims, still giddy over his joy and relief, “We got called in, but it turned out to be nothing. Today, at least.” 

“…I’m glad,” Akiteru distractedly responds. 

It’s then that Tadashi notices the hollow look to him, the gauntness and the distant expression. And he _then_  wonders why Akiteru may be at the hospital so late. “…Are you okay?” he asks, dread blanketing over his own good mood, smothering it down to nothing. 

Akiteru gives a little twitch that _could_  be a shrug. 

“D-Did something happen?” Tadashi asks with a glance down the hall. He’s not sure from this angle which one is Akiteru’s brother’s room. 

“…I’m sorry, I think I’m just going to… go,” Akiteru says blankly and starts shuffling away again. 

Tadashi reaches out, on impulse, to grab his arm. “Wait, are you—?” He means to finish it with an _okay_ , but he doesn’t get the chance. When he pulls Akiteru around to face him, the man’s vacant look has finally broken in favor of tears. 

The dread in his stomach changes, abruptly, to something far colder. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tadashi whispers, letting go of him as if burned. “I-I’m _so_ , so sorry, Akiteru.” 

“G-Good luck to your mother,” Akiteru forces out, voice thick and wavering, and Tadashi takes an unconscious step back. “I’m sorry. I won’t be coming back here again, Tadashi.” 

Akiteru leaves him, still hollow-eyed despite his tears and the anguished twist to his mouth, and Tadashi sags against the hallway wall. He knows what that means. He knows that the people in this ward are sick, _very_  sick, and despite his own scares with his mother, it has never hit him that they could _die_. 

That Akiteru’s brother _did_  die. 

And that Akiteru had never told him how bad his condition had been. The man had kept up a forcibly cheerful front, either for his own sake or for the lonely kid crying in the middle of the cafeteria—and now that’s gone, too. 

Despite all of the relief—that terrible, fucking _horrible_  relief—he felt earlier, now he just sinks to his knees and cries, because it’s not fair. He’d never gotten to meet Akiteru’s brother. His mother, alright for now, could follow the same path. How long before he’s walking down that hallway while struggling not to let anyone see his tears? He wasn’t ready for this tonight, and he won’t be ready for his mom. 

Tadashi kneels there and cries for a boy he’s never met, hoping it’s not practice for his own future. 


	47. suga: the ride one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga, implied ennotana  
> rating: t  
> summary: The guys go on a camping trip, and surprisingly, it almost goes entirely well.

The camping trip, overall, had been a success. No one died from bad mushrooms, they only managed to char-beyond-all-reason one fish, Suga had made sure to pack enough bug spray to keep them relatively mosquito-free, and, miracle of miracles, there were  _zero_  magical mishaps. For all of their joking, Suga did not find any mothmen, and Yuu did not capture bigfoot, and Ryuu did not shoot anything except a fish. Which burst into magical flames after that, burning it beyond edibility, but they weren’t counting that as a magical mishap. 

“I could’ve totally shot a deer,” Ryuu reasons as they pack up. They’re all dragging their feet, not wanting to admit that they have to return to civilization, but Chikara and Suga are keeping them fairly on schedule. 

“You wouldn’t know how to begin to clean a deer carcass,” Chikara scoffs as he passes him, carrying one of the bundled-up tents. 

“You think I don’t know how to gut something, city boy?!” 

“Have you ever butchered something for _food_?” 

“No, he hasn’t,” Suga flatly cuts in. “Ryuu, stop waving those things around and finish.” 

Ryuunosuke sticks his tongue out, because he’s an adult somewhere beneath all of that immaturity. But he gets going again, and Chikara shoots Suga a small, grateful smile. They probably hadn’t needed to kill a deer for five men over five days. 

They finish piling everything into the pickup and shove their pillows into the back. Chikara squeezes in first, and Suga gives Daichi a leer as he clambers in next. “Ready for your favorite part?” 

“I think it’s _your_  favorite part,” Daichi replies, unfazed. 

There’s already hardly any room between the two men in the backseat, and Suga gleefully steps up next, hanging onto the top for balance. “Hey.” Suga turns, looking over his shoulder at the tug on his hoodie. Yuu looks uncharacteristically serious, which means Suga knows what’s coming next. “You sure you don’t want shotgun? I rode in the front on the way down, so fair’s fair.” 

“And he’s tinier,” Chikara points out. 

“I’m fine, Noya,” Suga replies with a bright grin. He wriggles into the non-space into the back and plants himself firmly on Daichi’s lap, one of his other legs awkwardly hooked over Chikara’s knee. Suga makes sure to wiggle extra in Daichi’s lap, just for the sigh (and maybe gasp that preceded it. “I’m _definitely_  fine sitting right here.” 

His head is a little too high to sit totally upright, but Daichi lets him lean against him, and even if it’s three hours stuck in a confined space that is _a car_  it’s okay. He trusts Ryuu as a driver, and Daichi makes sure to keep his arms tight around Suga’s waist. Empirically, he knows it’s a very poor excuse for a seatbelt, but it does help him feel safer.

Yuu climbs into the front seat, scoots it forward again as far as it can go, and Ryuu double-checks that their stuff in the back of the truck is secure. “Everyone ready?” he calls, doing one more once-over of their campsite. 

“Yes!” they chorus back. 

“Alright, back to indoor plumbing and our responsibilities!” Ryuu shouts and hops into the driver’s seat. (Chikara huffs.) Suga doesn’t miss the way Ryuu glances at Yuu, nor the way Yuu’s grip on his seatbelt tightens for a moment when the engine roars on. 

The gravel road back out of the forest is bumpy. Daichi’s breath hitches every other bump, and Suga is nearly in tears from laughter by the time Ryuu turns back onto an old, paved highway. Daichi’s face is incredibly red and he’s staring _hard_  at Suga’s shoulder. His gaze is not the only thing that’s hard, either, and Suga happily wiggles further in his lap, until Ryuu and Chikara tell him to knock it off in unison. 

Suga relents, because he’s not _that_  mean, and it’s a little cute to see _them_  try to be the Responsible Ones for five minutes instead. 

He curls into Daichi, scooting down a bit, wedging himself into the smallest sliver of space between he and Chikara. His legs are already feeling cramped and his ass is asleep, but Daichi continues to hold him, running his thumbs along his hip, and it’s almost soothing. Granted, Suga can fall asleep just about anywhere given enough exhaustion, and sleeping in tents for the past five days isn’t all that conducive to a great sleep schedule, either. 

Ryuu turns the music up on the radio, and he and Yuu belt out some korean pop song, but they’re easy to drown out along with the too-loud engine of an old truck. Suga rests his head against Daichi’s shoulder and Daichi leans his head, so carefully, against his. Suga breathes against the collar of his shirt and cherishes the warmth spreading between them. 

His leg falls completely asleep before he does, an uncomfortable numbness combined with occasional pins and needles. Chikara is shifting beneath his legs, too, uncomfortable but with his eyes closed and cheek on his fist as he, too, tries to doze. Three hours isn’t a fun car ride in a cramped backseat, but they’ve already done it once, so they’ll just have to bite the bullet. 

Suga finally dozes off somewhere around the hour mark into their journey. Daichi’s chest rises and falls beneath him, even and strong, making him believe that the man is already asleep as well. That’s what finally lulls him. 

It seems like no time has passed before there’s a loud “ _Shit!_ ” and Suga is abruptly thrown against Chikara. 

The car has swerved, _sharply_ , and Suga _knows_  that feeling—he feels weightless and terrified before he even processes what’s actually going on. There’s a heart-stopping  _thump_  and Suga bounces, cracking his head against the top of the cabin. The truck fishtails, just a few times, and they screech to a stop on the side of the road. 

There is a long, heavy moment of silence. 

Suga can’t really hear much over his heart pounding in his ears, however, blood roaring and heart rate through the roof. He knows he’s not moving anymore, but he  _feels_  the momentum, of getting thrown around, and he hears echoes of screeching metal and shouts and _he needs to get out of this fucking thing_. 

“Let me out,” Yuu gasps out and the truck starts _dinging_  the alarm of a door ajar. Suga, without words and vision swimming through sudden tears, kicks at the door until Daichi opens it for him and he fucking bolts. 

He stops on the other side of the road and sinks into a crouch.

_I’m okay_ , he tells himself, fingers digging into the thick material of his hoodie. He can’t really breathe and his heart is still going like a fucking hummingbird in his ears, but he’s finally realizing that he’s not moving anymore, and that helps. He’s not in a car, he’s not moving, he’s still here and he’s still _alive_. 

Suga sniffs and scrubs at his face; he hears a soft “Suga?” from behind him and fucking hell, he didn’t want Daichi to see this type of thing. 

“I’m. I’m fine,” he says, voice shaking, and he remains crouched on the shoulder. “What happened, exactly?” 

“We hit a deer,” Daichi says carefully. He squats down beside Suga, careful to put himself in Suga’s line of sight, and reaches out to place his arm on Suga’s back. When Suga doesn’t flinch away, he starts rubbing circles, small but firm. “Are you okay?” 

“H-How’s Noya?” 

“Pretty much the same as you,” Daichi replies. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Suga can feel himself gradually calming down. He sniffs again and sits down on the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. 

Well, now that the terror is ebbing away, he just feels pathetic. Worry, at least, is stronger than shame, and after one last lean into Daichi’s touch, he gets up to cross the highway once more. 

Without saying anything, Suga just plops down next to Yuu and wraps his arms around him. Yuu doesn’t say anything, either. 

“I’m sorry,” Ryuu says, and it sounds like he’s already said it a thousand times. “I’m so fucking sorry, you guys—” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Chikara says firmly. “A deer ran out into the road. That sort of accident just happens.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s fucking fair!” Ryuunosuke snaps back. His shoulders slump again, anger gone, and he kicks at the truck’s tire. “Fucking… Fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“We’re okay,” Daichi says. Yuu nods against Suga’s shoulder. Suga doesn’t mention his headache. “The car’s okay?” 

“Yeah, probably.” 

“Where did the deer go?” Chikara asks, looking around. At that, Yuu finally gets up to his feet, tugging Suga up with him. He keeps their arms tightly interlocked. 

They find the deer a little ways back, still alive, although it looks like two of its legs are broken. It whines at them, fear in every trembling limb, and Suga feels his heart seize at the blood smeared across its fur. 

“Should we…?” Daichi asks uncomfortably. 

Suga isn’t actually sure what he means but he knows he doesn’t want this poor animal to suffer. “No,” Yuu says with surprising bite to his words. Suga blinks down at him. “We’re calling an animal hospital or something.” 

“Okay, but we still have to transport it. I don’t think they have animal ambulances that come out to the ass crack of nowhere,” Ryuu says, supportive at once, and he plants his fists on his hips. “If we put it in the back, it’ll probably just jump out again.” 

“…I’m not getting in that truck again,” Suga says. “I can’t.” 

“We’re still an hour out,” Chikara replies. 

“I’m with Suga, we’ll fuckin’ walk,” Yuu says flatly. “The deer can have the back seat.” 

“We’re not putting a wild animal _in_  the fucking truck and I’m not leaving you two out here!” Ryuu snaps. “I’m sorry I fucked up and I’m sorry a goddamn deer got hurt, but you guys need to—”

“We’re _not_  driving back,” Suga interrupts. 

“You’re not a witch, and we didn’t pack brooms, anyway. Are you going to sprout wings and fly home?” Chikara asks and folds his arms across his chest. Suga flinches at that, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“We don’t know how long it is to the next town or gas station,” Daichi adds. He looks down the empty highway, then back down at the panting deer. “And this thing is probably in a lot of pain.” 

“ _Sleep_ ,” Suga says, drawing the rune in the air between himself and the deer. The animal whines once more and then lays still. “There’s sleep soot in one of my bags, you can keep it unconscious like that.” 

“That still involves putting an injured deer into the backseat,” Chikara points out. “And one of us would still be back there. And we’re _still_  not stranding you two out here.” 

“Leave us with a tent and some sleeping bags, and we’ll make it back tomorrow,” Yuu declares with his usual amount of confidence. Suga is glad he’s bounced back, but he also thinks the plan is his usual brand of stupid, too. 

“Let me call in a favor,” Suga suggests before Yuu can start trying to talk anyone out of camping gear. 

The cell service sucks, so they back the truck up to where the deer is, and Suga climbs on top of the cab to get his phone high enough. Daichi sits next to him, bracing his legs, and Yuu continues trying to talk Ryuunosuke into putting the deer into the pickup. 

Finally, after too much arm-wiggling and praying, Suga gets a blip of service. He hits speed-dial 4 and puts it on speaker. He hardly hears it pick up before he says, “Tooru? It’s Koushi, and I need a favor.” 

 

–-

 

“I-I see now why Daichi wanted to drive back with Ryuu!” Chikara shouts against the wind. His grip is nearing painful, but Suga only chuckles. “I don’t see how you two aren’t afraid of a _dragon_ , too, though!” 

“Do a barrel roll!” Yuu shrieks in delight and Chikara lets out an anguished moan against Suga’s back. 

Iwaizumi, to his credit, ignores the request. “Stop wiggling, you three are heavy enough as it is,” he grumbles. 

“It’s a fast trip for you!” Suga replies. 

Iwaizumi does not respond. He begins to descend, angling his body down and flapping his four wings less frequently, content to glide. Yuu releases his grip and puts both arms in the air, and Chikara wheezes weakly against Suga. Suga merely cackles and tries to make sure that Yuu doesn’t fall off. 

Their landing is a little rocky, since Iwaizumi is carrying the deer in his front claws, and he drops it off quickly in front of a surprised Tooru. Iwaizumi skids to a stop just past them, and Chikara is the first one off the dragon with shaky legs. 

“Oh, this poor thing,” Tooru says, crouching down beside the unconscious deer. “Kyouken-chan is on his way, but if it just has broken legs, it should be okay. Probably. I don’t know much about living deer, I’m afraid.” 

Iwaizumi snorts out smoke. Yuu jumps off, landing perfectly, arms still held upward. Suga slides off with as much dignity as he can manage. Iwaizumi is up on his own feet a moment later, pulling the skin off his back and stretching his neck with several audible  _cracks_. 

“We appreciate this,” Suga repeats. 

“It’s fine. Like you said, fast trip. But you still owe me a massage,” Iwaizumi says dismissively, and walks over to look at the deer with a surprisingly unreadable expression on his face. 

“How are you two?” Tooru asks, eyes flitting up to the hunters for the first time. 

“We survived,” Suga replies with a shrug. He’s not sure what else he _can_  say. He’s still half-embarrassed by it all, he’s sure Daichi will be tiptoeing around him for the next three weeks, and he’s equally sure that Ryuunosuke will be apologizing until the next apocalypse. 

“Dragons beat cars any day,” Yuu adds with a sharp grin. Suga isn't yet certain how much of his mood is genuine and how much is a front for his sake. Tooru doesn't help him in that regard. “You two should come on our next camping trip, save us all a ride.” 

“Oikawa and camping don’t exactly go well together,” Iwaizumi says, finally cracking a smile. “But maybe we can drag him out.” 

“What mean friends,” Tooru sighs. He straightens with his own back-cracking. “We still have about an hour before the two military men arrive, so how about ice cream until the vet arrives? It looks like _someone_ needs extra chocolate after discovering his newfound fear of dragons.” 

“J-Just. Give me a moment,” Chikara wheezes. 

“Ice cream sounds good,” Yuu agrees. 


	48. suga: the car wash one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: suga x thirst, implied iwaoi, implied daisuga, implied kyouhaba, implied... sae/bo...?  
> rating: t for thirst  
> summary: "It's for charity," Tooru declares with a grand, sweeping gesture. 
> 
> "If you call me a charity case one more fucking time—" Kentarou begins, but it's too late.

“ _Kiyoko_!” 

She looks up when a very breathless Suga stumbles into the shop through the open doorway. It’s nice out, door and windows open to let in sun and breeze alike, but the sweat on him seems more from a sprint than from any heat from the summer day. Suga more or less collapses against one of the countertops (miraculously cleared for once) and pants.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern growing by the second. Today had been a day off for him, but she knows better than anyone that Sugawara Koushi and Days Off rarely mix successfully. _What had happened?_

“I need—I-I need—money,” Suga gasps out. 

“…Money?” Kiyoko repeats, puzzled. He nods against the countertop, rubbing his cheek against its cool surface gratefully. 

“Out of cash,” he adds.

“What do you need it for? You know I’ll always lend you some, but—” 

“No, I need a job. Give me something to spend, not a loan.” It seems he’s caught his breath, but now he’s fanning himself with his hand, still red in the face and with his pale hair sticking to his temples. With a gesture, Kiyoko slides over a beaker full of rose water. He drinks it with only the smallest grimace. “Anything, absolutely anything. But it’s got to be today.” 

“What do you need money so for badly? And no, I’m not giving you a job.” 

“It’s for—” 

“ _Kiyoooooko_!” They’re interrupted as Saeko comes barreling through the door, much in the same manner as Suga before her, albeit in better shape. Hands on her knees, the blonde woman sucks in air, but still demands between breaths, “Job. Now. Pay me.” 

Suga groans; he must realize that Kiyoko _sure as hell_ isn’t going to give in to something _both_ of them want without explanation. “It’s a fundraiser,” he tells her. “It’s for charity.”

“Yeah—charity,” Saeko wheezes. 

“What is?” Kiyoko asks. 

“You got—we got both firearms and magic covered—so you can’t say no to us,” Saeko replies. “Any job. We’ll have it done in an hour.” 

She can think of several jobs they most certainly would not have done in an hour. “Aren’t you supposed to be retired?” Kiyoko asks flatly.

“I’m the only one with a fuckin’ truck!” 

“ _What_ do you need a car for?” 

“It’s… a carwash,” Suga says. Now he’s not looking at her, giving up the pleading puppy expression, and is studying a bundle of drying saffron flowers on the nearest shelf. “For _charity_ , some local animal hospital,” he repeats. With emphasis.

Kiyoko suddenly understands, and she can’t help but groan. “Are you two serious? You want money to go throw it at—”

“Daichi’s doing it,” Suga stubbornly adds. 

“And I gotta support my little brother!” 

“You want to _support_ Bokuto.” 

“It’s for charity, I’ll support _something_.” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Kiyoko sighs, feeling an awful lot like the mother to two kids begging for ice cream money.

 

–-

 

“Pay up,” says the demon reclining on a beach chair like the world’s worst guardian. Suga raises an eyebrow; Kuroo’s dark skin is gleaming in the sunlight, like he’s oiled himself up since the last time Suga saw him, although he’s still wearing as little clothing as before. He doesn’t seem bothered in the least by all of the scars stretching across his body, and he seems even less concerned by how much skin he’s showing. 

“Excuse me?” Saeko demands, fists on her hips. “This is a _car wash_.”

“And Sugawara doesn’t have a car. Your shitty pickup has also been _washed_ half a dozen times already today.” Yahaba raises his head and lowers his sunglasses down his nose with a single finger, giving them both an unimpressed look. He, too, is enjoying the sun, basking on a towel on the concrete with an equal lack of clothing. Bonus: his shorts are somehow riding even lower than Kuroo's, pushed down by his tail. 

Suga isn’t sure he ever wanted to see a demon or an inugami in cutoffs. He also isn’t sure whether or not he should be jealous of how good they look, or just appreciate it. (Isn’t _appreciating_  what got him into this mess? He doesn’t want to ponder that. He knows the answer already. Sugawara Koushi is a weak man.) 

Kenma, seated on Kuroo’s other side and actually dressed normally, looks up from his psp. “They changed the rules because they knew you’d pay,” he flatly informs them. “For Oikawa, too.” 

Well, who _wouldn’t_  pay? Still, it irks Suga, and he gives them both his most disapproving stare. Yahaba nudges his glasses back up and dismisses the look with a swish of his tail. Saeko nearly growls at him. He actually growls right back. 

Without moving, Kuroo grabs the makeshift sign with an inky tendril and holds it up for them. “CAR WASH FOR ANIMALS” is scrawled across the top in neon orange. Beneath it is “All Proceeds Directly Benefit Blue Leaf Animal Hospital” in a slightly more readable red. 

The bottom line, however, is new, and reads “With Some Benefiting Kenma’s PS4 Fund” in very bad handwriting. 

“Seriously?” Saeko asks. Kenma gives a little shrug and returns to his game. 

“It’s pay-per-view now,” Kuroo proudly tells them.

“That’s not what that means,” Suga replies and pulls out his wallet. Like fuck he’s missing this show, and if there’s going to be an audience, then, well, maybe he won’t feel so bad. “How has business been _besides_  us three?” 

“We had a lady stop by and try to talk us into washing her wyvern, but it was half-feral and your boyfriend wouldn’t go near it,” Yahaba replies. “A few cars, more than one repeat customer, and Bokuto keeps wanting to get hosed down. He says the glamor makes him too hot.” 

“He just likes playing in the water,” Kuroo says dismissively. He takes Suga’s money—and Saeko’s, as she throws a fistful of bills at him with a sneer—and waves them over to where Tooru is sitting with a book he’s pretending to read (it’s upside-down). 

The _actual_  car-washers are working right now, not just laying around like the other two, and Suga feels particularly blessed. They’re supposed to be washing an SUV, but Bokuto is trying to talk Kentarou and Daichi into giving him one of the hoses; all three of them are dripping wet and Bokuto has lost his shirt since in the hour Suga was gone. Ryuu, naturally still shirtless and barefoot only in ABU pants (Suga can’t make eye contact with him), is chatting pleasantly with the owner of the vehicle.

Suga is not surprised in the least that Iwaizumi seems to be the only one working. 

“Still haven’t been able to talk Iwaizumi out of the shirt?” Saeko asks, plopping down beside Tooru; the brunet sadly shakes his head. 

“He’s threatened to spray me with the hose twice, but Bokuto got him earlier so at least he had the wet t-shirt thing going. Now he’s mostly dry again, though,” Tooru laments, all kinds of dramatic, but Suga can see that he’s genuinely trying to figure out a plan for that. Worrying. Also good, because Iwaizumi is wearing the most out of any of them and that’s _very_ unfair. 

“Is he still afraid of people seeing his tattoos?” Suga asks. 

“I don’t think so,” Tooru hums. “I’m working on it.” He glances up at Suga, only now seeming to register his appearance, and gives him a sly smirk. “Daichi, on the other hand, is easy to read.” 

“ _Really_ ,” Suga replies, more amused than concerned, and looks back over to where Daichi scolds Bokuto and knocks him gently on the head with the hose. 

“He’s been waiting for you to get back,” Tooru tells him. “Not that he’s a bad worker, but it’s not like he knows the others that well, and he’s like a little lost puppy without you, Koushi.” 

“It’s not that bad. Is he still scared of Yahaba?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Poor thing,” Saeko says without any real pity. Yahaba, even across the parking lot, barks out a laugh at them. 

Kentarou lifts up the edge of his (white, _wet_ ) tank top to wipe at his face and the three of them fall silent with minute, happy sighs. “I’m so proud Kyouken-chan’s business endeavor is going so well,” Tooru says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. 

Suga knows for a fact that this was largely Tooru’s idea, but it’s not like this is for nothing. Daichi takes Dinah to that vet, and he thinks Kenma takes his familiar, too. Maybe the PS4 thing is a little much, but if Kenma’s presence can get Kuroo and Bokuto to stick around, then they’re guaranteed more customers, right? 

“Wait, where’s Akaashi? They were here earlier,” Suga says, tearing his eyes away from the ridiculous men in front of him to give a cursory look around. Oh, well, definitely no other tengu. Time to return his attention to Important Things. (Important things like Daichi’s ass in those shorts.) 

“They left a little while ago, said it was too much. Whatever that means,” Tooru replies flippantly. 

“More like _not enough_ ,” Saeko says. Tooru nods. “Oi, boys, take somethin’ off!” 

“Sae!” Ryuu snaps, mostly in shock, having finally registered their reappearance. He scowls at his sister. “Get lost, Saeko! Stop creeping on us!” 

“We’re paying customers now,” Suga replies with a cheery (and maybe cheeky) smile. “Go on, give us a show.” 

“Wash those cars _real_  good,” Tooru calls, too, and Iwaizumi’s face is scarlet as he quickly hurries around to the other side of the SUV. There’s already another car waiting in line in the parking lot behind them, and they’re definitely catching the attention of ones driving past, even if this is a quieter part of the city. 

“Give us our money’s worth!” Saeko adds, winking. 

“Come join us, then!” Bokuto calls. He’s the only one thrilled with Saeko’s presence. 

Kentarou literally sprays the three bystanders with a hose when Saeko makes to stand up. “No. This is stupid enough as it is and you’re still banned,” he growls. Saeko growls back, dripping and pissed, and when he bares his teeth at her Yahaba finally intervenes. 

“Now, now, play nice, children,” he says, although it’s mostly directed at Saeko. “You ladies had your car wash last month, now it’s our turn. You’re allowed to sit and look, but don’t bother our personnel.” 

“You ladies?” Tooru scoffs, sharing a glance with Suga. (Even if Suga  _had_  participated in Kiyoko’s plan. Mostly in the capacity that Kuroo is now in, but still.) 

“You two are still out because you’ll distract our volunteers. Having sex on the hood of a car will attract the wrong kind of customers,” Yahaba points out. 

In accidental unison, Tooru and Suga cross their arms and pout. Yahaba just waves them off with his own thin smile and goes back over to his spot near the edge of the lot. He doesn’t go back to lounging, at least, instead holding up their sign and posing on the corner. 

“You sure about turning him loose?” Saeko asks darkly. 

“No one can see the ears or the tail right now, no. We tested it on half a dozen people already.” 

“And why doesn’t he just wear a glamor—” She’s interrupted by Kentarou, again, spraying her with the hose. “ _Hey_!” 

She lunges at him with a snarl before Suga can think to grab her. Tooru, with faster reflexes, catches Yahaba as the inugami comes back across to intervene, and Suga helps drag him away while Ryuu and Daichi pull Saeko and Kentarou apart. 

Kentarou is no longer allowed to have a hose, Saeko is not allowed to talk, and Kuroo enjoyed the show with a lot of laughter. 

“I didn’t think there would be this many issues running something like a car wash. Don’t you people ever behave like adults?” Daichi scolds, now permanently in charge of the hose, and he points it at them threateningly. 

Kentarou opens his mouth with some sulky retort, but Iwaizumi gives him a frown, and he shuts up without saying a word. 

Saeko plops back down on the sidewalk, sulking herself, but Bokuto sits down next to her and starts up a conversation about the best way to skin various magical creatures. Suga isn’t sure how or why they match so well, but he’s not complaining right now; he doesn’t want to start more trouble. Or get any wetter. 

He wrings out the bottom of his shirt as best he can, eyeing Tooru as the man pokes at his dripping hair. Before Suga can comment, Tooru pulls his wet shirt up and off of himself, wringing it out beside them and then trying to use it as a towel. 

Tooru catches him looking and Suga pointedly looks back in Daichi’s direction. 

Where Daichi has also just taken off his wet shirt. 

Suga turns to face the wall in order to try to orient himself. He’s going to die. There’s too many hot people here, and he’s actually, genuinely going to die if he turns back around to see Daichi dripping, shirtless, and grinning at him. (Other potential causes of death: if Saeko gets the idea to also take off her shirt, if Kuroo starts posing like Yahaba on the street corner, if Iwaizumi ever strips—basically, Suga must have a death wish. Or a wish to start shoving crumpled bills into peoples’ remaining articles of clothing.) 

“Problem, Koushi?” Tooru purrs and drapes himself over Suga’s shoulders. “You’re broadcasting your thoughts pretty loud, you know. You could just try to sweep your darling Daichi off his feet—”

“He’s working, and I’m not stripping in front of everyone when _that_  is my competition,” Suga replies with a snort. 

The guys finish rinsing off the SUV and the next car pulls up, a little compact with a cute old lady driving it. She gets out and chats happily with Daichi and Iwaizumi while the other three get to work washing, obviously playing it up for her. 

“They’re going to kill us,” Tooru grimly surmises. Suga nods. 

Ryuu _finally_  turns the hose on Bokuto and the tengu laughs, pleased and bright and surprisingly innocent considering how he’s arching on the old woman’s hood. He looks different with his hair down, too, and without the feathers on his body it’s  _really_  easy to see just how muscular he is. 

“Why does a _bird_  need that much muscle mass?” Tooru scoffs.

“Don’t let him or Akaashi hear you say that,” Suga sighs back. 

Daichi abruptly bends over to scrub at one of the tires and Suga just as abruptly has a nosebleed. 

He swears and shoves his wet shirt at his nose, and Tooru starts _cackling_  in the most unattractive manner at him, prompting Iwaizumi to throw a bucket at him with a surprising amount of accuracy. Tooru goes down with a squawk—and his own bloody nose, too. 

“Some way to treat paying customers,” Tooru pouts, bleeding through his fingers. 

“Daichi can treat me like this all he wants. He never gets all coy and pose-y like this with just me…” 

“He’s trying to show off for you,” Tooru mutters. 

Suga makes a questioning sound around the shirt pressed to his face. 

“He’s jealous of how much you’re staring at everyone and he’s trying to keep your attention on _him_. Honestly, you _must_  be distracted if you couldn’t tell already…” 

How strangely sweet of Daichi. And how entirely unhelpful, since a) Suga’s ruining his shirt right now, b) he literally threw all of the cash he owned at Kuroo and Yahaba so now he’s broke, and c) Daichi _still_  wouldn’t act like this if it were just the two of them. 

“Just ask him if you want a strip show,” Tooru scolds and gives Suga a yank on the ear. “And get those stupid mental walls back up. I’m trying to deal with my _own_  big, gay problems right now and I don’t need yours bleeding over into mine.” 

Suga tries to gather his thoughts enough to try to stop being such A Big Gay Mess right now. And it probably works, too—for a whole three seconds until he glances over and sees Iwaizumi pulling his shirt off in such a way to guarantee that he’s not getting rid of the nosebleed anytime soon.

Tooru must hear something in his thoughts, because his head whips around so fast he nearly headbutts Suga. “Iwa-chan, lookin’ good!” he calls with a wolf-whistle. 

Another bucket sails over and unfortunately hits them both. 

Suga wonders if today is a lucky day or an unlucky one. 


	49. ot4: the easy target one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: ot4 (bokuakakuroken c'mon you've been here long enough to know that by now)  
> rating: t for some salty language and My Usual Amount of blood  
> summary: Kenma is the favorite, because Kenma is small, and unassuming, and quiet, and cute, and an easy target.

Bokuto slings his arm around Kenma’s shoulders, only to be shrugged off a moment later. Akaashi’s own shoulders shake with silent laughter that, thankfully, Bokuto does not see. 

Just because he can, Kuro puts his arm around Kenma, and he isn’t batted away. He smirks over Kenma’s head at Bokuto’s insulted screech (which drowns out Kenma’s own sigh). “Looks like you’re not the favorite today, Bo,” he says smugly. 

“I’m _always_  the favorite!” 

“I think Kenma must be the favorite today,” Akaashi points out, still incredibly amused, but that may also be the alcohol talking. (Kenma is the only one who has not gotten any louder with the addition of booze.) 

“I want to be the favorite,” Bokuto sulks and sips at his drink.  

“Someone else can be,” Kenma mumbles, but Kuro just laughs loudly and pulls him against him. 

“You’re always my favorite. Bo, too. And Akaashi.” 

“That’s not how favorites work…” 

“It’s how _I_  work,” Kuro declares. That has Akaashi laughing again, though they try in vain to smother the noise with their fingers. “Drunk Akaashi is especially my favorite,” he adds and motions like he’s trying to salute them with the hand that’s holding his glass. Kenma narrowly avoids rum and coke spilled down his shirt. 

“I think I,” Akaashi says with a dangerous wobble, and they _do_  end up spilling some of their drink on their leggings, “I need to get some air.” 

“Air sounds good,” Kenma says, latching onto that like a lifeline. 

“We’ll stay in here!” Bokuto declares. “We can be the bar’s favorite!” 

“I think we already are,” Kuro says thoughtfully. 

Akaashi laughs again, largely at nothing, and Kenma steps away as they spill more of their drink. Kuro wisely plucks it out of their hand and downs the rest himself; Akaashi doesn’t notice when they’re handed an empty cup back. “We’ll get some air,” Kenma tells them, and starts pushing Akaashi toward the nearest exit. It’s not worth it to fight their way to the front, even if more people will likely be out back smoking. “Hold on,” the witch says, stopping when they reach the back wall. “I have to use the bathroom, but you stay right here, okay?” 

“Mmkay,” Akaashi replies. They’re leaning heavily on Kenma, but remain upright when he ducks away from them, and instead leans against the back wall with a sigh. 

Akaashi closes their eyes, drowning out the too-loud bar music, and slowly sinks down as it gets harder and harder to stand. 

When they reopen their eyes, they find Kuro squatting down next to them, pressing a cold bottle of water to their forehead. Akaashi blinks blearily at him. “Were you sleeping on the floor in a dirty bar?” Kuro asks, more sympathetic than judgmental. 

“I was waiting for Kenma. Where’s Bokuto?” 

“Getting into a drinking contest with Mr. Portuguese. Where’s Kenma?” 

“He had to go, then we were gonna get air,” Akaashi replies. 

“You two left forty-five minutes ago. He just left you here?” After helping the glamored tengu stand (stably), Kuro ducks his head into the men’s restroom, calling, “Kenma?” 

There’s no response. 

Kuro comes out, frowning, and he and Akaashi look at the lady’s restroom. Kenma wouldn’t willingly use it, but if he was drunk and/or wanting to avoid trouble in the other one… “You go check,” Kuro says, nudging Akaashi, who gives him a dirty look. “You’re the one in the dress tonight. Please check?” 

Akaashi sighs, takes a drink from the water bottle, and ducks into the lady’s room. 

They come back without Kenma. 

 

–-

 

It’s five in the morning, and Kuro is begging the other bartender for information about Kenma, having traded off with Akaashi so they can comfort an increasingly dejected Bokuto. They have already been to both of the bars they’d visited that night, asking the staff as well as anyone who would listen about Kenma, and Kuro has already left probably six or seven increasingly distraught voicemails for Tadashi. 

They’re frighteningly sober now. Exhausted, too, lost and concerned and not sure of what to do. Akaashi rubs at Bokuto’s back, murmuring softness and reassurances at him; Kuro can see that they, especially, are looking worn. He thinks this may have been the longest Bokuto has ever used a glamor, and adding that to other stressors plus alcohol? It’s a miracle no one’s sprouted feathers yet. 

By the time the sun is coming up, they agree that they should just head back to Kenma’s apartment and wait for Tadashi to answer his phone. (Akaashi talked them both down from going to Tadashi’s and dragging him out in the middle of the night, if only because there was no fight or huge amount of magic used, and it seemed like he still had his phone.) 

They find a letter stuffed under the door, unaddressed. 

Bokuto opens it despite Akaashi’s muted noise of protest, and he rotates it around a couple times, nose wrinkled in growing puzzlement. “I can hardly read it—someone cut out a bunch of letters from magazines and stuff. They don’t really match.” 

Kuro hooks his chin over Bokuto’s shoulder to read, expression hardening as he does. “It’s a ransom note. On TV, humans make them so you can’t recognize the handwriting.” 

“Ransom, as in someone wants to trade something?” Akaashi asks. “Does it have to do with Kenma?” 

“Doesn’t say his name anywhere,” Bokuto says, turning it around again so it’s nearly upside down. 

“No, no—stop that—look, right here. I think they meant that Kenma is ‘the little one’,” Kuro says, literally pointing it out. 

“…Little?” Bokuto echoes, squinting. 

“What do they—”

“I guess, comparatively…?” Bokuto murmurs thoughtfully.

“No, this is good,” Kuro declares, snatching the paper while Bokuto held up a hand roughly where Kenma’s head came up to. “They don’t know who Kenma _is_ , right? If they just grabbed him because he’s small, then they probably don’t realize he’s a witch!” 

“It’s not _good_  that he’s been kidnapped, now what do they want?” Akaashi snaps, finally grabbing the paper from him to read over themselves. “A First egg…?” 

“It doesn’t say whose, though,” Bokuto says. 

“You’re not losing yours twice,” Akaashi deadpans and folds the paper with a nod. “I can go get mine—” 

“Akaashi, no, you can’t give up yours—”

“Neither of you should! Isn’t that why people worried when the last ones got stolen? They’re valuable!” Kuro exclaims. 

“So is Kenma,” Bokuto snaps back, then returns to bickering with Akaashi over whose egg will be given up. 

 

–-

 

Kenma wakes to a bucket of freezing water dumped on his head. 

He gasps and jolts. Shivering between his coughs, he eyes the restraints that prevented him from jumping up altogether. Leather buckles wrapped around his wrist, binding him to the chair, and rope tied somewhat messily around his middle. His ankles are tied together but not to the chair. 

He shakes wet hair out of his eyes and stares up at the man who’d splashed him. 

“Alright, so, nothing personal,” he starts as Kenma evaluates him. He looks fairly nondescript, human in appearance, and Kenma can see no hint of any glamors on him. He can’t smell a thing with water in his nose, though, and Kuro’s sense of smell is better than his, anyway. “I’m holding you here until my, uh, boss gets here. We need something from your feathered friends. You’ll probably be okay.” 

Kenma doesn’t respond. It looks like he’s in a room, probably a hotel room judging on the layout of the sparse furniture. He can’t see any windows from his current angle, and he doesn’t want to crane his head around so obviously with this man right here. 

What his eyes _really_  alight on is the broom leaning against the wall in the corner. 

“…Your boss is a witch?” Kenma asks neutrally. He doesn’t see anything etched into the chair or the bindings on him, so if the man before him is a witch, he’s a  _really_  stupid one. _Actually, he’s probably not magical at all. So he’s the muscle of the operation…?_

His captor blinks in surprise. “How’d you know that?” 

 _You just told me_ , Kenma thinks and begins writing runes against the chair with the water he’d been doused with. “How do you know you’ll get what you want out of this? My friends were very drunk.” 

“I left a note. Like I said, it was nothing personal against you, kid. You were just the easiest target, and we didn’t really want to get into a brawl.” 

“Wrong,” Kenma says, cutting through the leather on his wrists. He burns through the rope in a matter of seconds, the man backing away with outright shock on his face. By the time Kenma is on his feet, though, the other has recovered, dropping into a fighting stance, fists raised. 

So no magic then. 

He _really_  picked the wrong target. 

Kenma knocks him off his feet with a _push_  spell aimed at his legs, and Kenma is on top of him before he can recover. Kenma pins his arms with his knees, hands crackling with magic as he holds them over his throat. “Tell me what you want from the tengu and where you left the note.” 

“I-It was at the apartment you left from tonight! I just planted it and then followed you!” 

“What did you _want_  from the tengu.” 

“I can’t tell you!” the man shouts desperately. The magic is burning the skin of his neck, despite the fact that Kenma hasn’t touched him yet. But keeping this much raw magic pushed out of his body like this is beginning to make him dizzy. 

Kenma leans back, magic dying away in his fingertips, and opens his mouth to ask again—for the last time—when the man throws him off with surprising strength. Kenma hits the chair, and that’s enough pain and confusion to distract him for the moment it takes for the tables to turn. 

The man _is_  much larger than him, but Kenma isn’t really scared of him until he sees the man’s blown pupils and rather sharp teeth, which he now bares at Kenma. 

 _Werewolf? Vampire?_  He may have shown his hand already, and Kenma _doesn’t know_  what his assailant actually is. He isn’t the only one who’d been underestimated tonight. There’s a hundred things the man could be, but Kenma is still the one with magic. He needs to press his advantage. 

The man leans down, growling, “As long as we return you whole,” and Kenma feels his breath catch when he realizes that the man is angling to _bite_  him. 

Kenma’s upper arms are pinned but he manages to raise one hand enough to press into the man’s side. “ _Cut_!” It’s a sloppy spell, but he feels hot blood spray out over his arm, and the man howls and rolls away from him. 

Kenma ends up on top once more, and this time he’s not going to hesitate. He can probably decapitate the man with a better-put-together _cut_  spell, but he needs to find out why he was after Bokuto or Akaashi. Kenma has guesses, but he wants  _answers_ , and he has enough creativity and magic to get them so long as he doesn’t let the man gain the upper hand again. 

All of his determination falls away when he realizes that the blood he’s splattered with is black. 

The lack of magic, the inability to properly recognize what Kenma was, even the lack of proper fighting training and his ‘boss’—Kenma looks down and realizes he’d been just about to kill a _demon_. 

“Why the hell aren’t you burning?!” the man snarls and twists, catching Kenma off guard. He pins Kenma on his stomach this time, one arm wrenched painfully behind his back, the demon’s other hand pressing Kenma’s head against the rough carpet. “This blood’s supposed to be like acid to humans, what the _hell_!” 

Kenma isn’t sure, but he thinks the man isn’t aware of how much weight he’s putting onto Kenma. He can’t breathe, each inhale little more than a strangled wheeze, and he can feel more blood running down onto his shirt, sticking to him. 

His vision is already darkening around the edges; he’ll only have one shot at this. And fuck, it’s going to hurt. 

Kenma casts and keeps fire magic in the hand that the man has pinned against his back, large enough flames to make him hiss and let go. Kenma ignores the pain, shaking out the fire, and whirls around to elbow the man. He knows exactly how much of a beating a demon can go through before one’s down for the count, and he knows how to get around orders. 

He doesn’t have time to properly cast, so ignoring the further drain on his magic, he uses a combination _push-gravity-bind_  spell to shove the demon flat on his back. Kenma gets shakily to his feet, shakes out his burnt hand, and takes a deep breath. 

“I know how to get around demon orders,” Kenma tells him flatly, one foot placed on the man’s sternum. “So you are going to answer what you can, however you can. Do you understand?” 

The man narrows his eyes, breathing shallow, and Kenma presses down harder on his chest. It doesn’t do the trick, so Kenma makes a magic arrow and points the tip at the hollow of his throat. Slowly, he nods. 

“Is your contract holder after tengu eggs?” 

Another nod. 

“Do they need _First_  eggs.” 

The nod this time makes him wince. Kenma switches tactics, since that confirmed his guess. 

“Are they using this for a summoning?” 

“No,” the demon gasps out. “A-A spell. I don’t know what kind.” 

Kenma is well aware he could be lying. He’s also aware that his spell won’t last forever, and neither will his magic. 

Most of all, he’s uncomfortably aware that he could stop this right now, put an end to whatever plans the witch has, by killing the demon beneath him. Two birds with one stone. 

…But he already has black blood literally on his hands. It’s not as if the man looks or acts much like Kuro, and Kenma doesn’t know a thing about the witch who’d summoned him. He doesn’t want to kill two people without knowing the details of anything. (God knows the shit _he’s_  done in the name of usually-good things.) 

Kenma steps off of him. He isn’t sure how well a _sleep_  spell would work on him, exhausted as Kenma is, but he knows a simpler solution. 

By the time the gravity spell wears off and the demon sits up with a pained groan, Kenma has finished painting the confinement circle on the carpet with his blood. The man’s lip curls, and Kenma spares him one last, displeased look. 

“Get a smarter witch, or learn not to pick targets based on appearances,” he advises. The demon sticks his tongue out in response. 

Kenma takes the broom, locks the door as many times as he can behind him, and finds another window to leave from. 

 

–-

 

Kenma trudges up the stairs, dragging the broom behind him, opens the door, and only yawns when he finds his three lovers arguing in the middle of his living room. Kuro is holding Midna, despite her frantic meowing, apparently trying to talk the other two into a finding spell using his familiar. (There’s an idea they can test later.) The tengu seem like they were going back and forth about eggs.

“Kenma!” Bokuto cries; Kenma holds the broom out at him to prevent the over-enthusiastic hug that would follow. 

“What happened?” Akaashi asks, brow furrowing in concern, and circles around the broom to hover pointedly over Kenma’s burned hand. 

“It’s taken care of,” Kenma replies with another yawn. “A witch wanted a First egg, or maybe two, and sent their demon after me. I’m tired now.” 

“Demon?” Kuro asks over Midna’s meowing. He sets the squirming cat down and goes to hover fretfully, at the same time that Bokuto pries the broom away. 

Kenma doesn’t really want a million questions, nor does he want to get swarmed with the annoyingly larger-than-him trio. “Can we sleep first? I’m fine and we’ve been up all night…” 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Akaashi asks. They gently take Kenma’s hand, turning it over, examining the reddened skin. Kenma doesn’t pull away until they seem satisfied. 

“I just want to sleep in my own bed.” _And be reassured that I am okay_ , he thinks, and he also thinks that they can read that in him. He’s herded off to his bedroom, and in spite of the fact that they have proven _several_  times it does not fit the four of them, they pile on anyway. 

“Kenma gets to be in the middle because he’s the favorite,” Bokuto decides, and Kenma rolls his eyes. 


	50. kuroken: the ingredient one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: e  
> summary: Kenma needs Kuroo's help with a spell. Sexy times ensue. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

“Kuro, I need a favor,” Kenma says with a tug on his demon’s hair. Kuro cranes his head back, looking upside-down at the witch, and Kenma tries very hard not to blush. He can’t believe he’s asking this, but, well, Kuro is _right here_ , and it’d be a sin to waste this opportunity, right? Kenma doesn’t believe in waste. This is a Good Idea.

…It had better goddamn be, because it’s also mortifying.

“What is it?” Kuro asks, all innocence.

Kenma pulls out his chair so they’re facing each other. Kuro closes his book, finger kept in between the pages to hold his space, and his expression dips a little more serious. “I… need you to…” Kenma almost wonders if this would be different if he could just _order_ him to do it, but the thought is unfair, to both of them.

Kuro raises an eyebrow at the vague little hand gesture Kenma makes. He sets his book down on the desk, leans forward in his chair, and asks again, “What’s up? You’re going to have to be a _little_ more articulate. I’m not a mind reader.”

“I need…” Kenma fidgets again, pressing his legs together, and wonders if he should just try something else. He can make do without Kuro’s help, right?

He makes to bolt, but Kuro, for all that he says he’s _not_ a mind reader, grabs his wrist and keeps him there. “Oh no, now I’m curious. And your face is really red. You can’t leave me hanging here after this little show,” Kuro says with equal parts teasing and firmness.

Kenma bites the bullet and leans down to kiss him.

Kuro freezes at first, off guard by the rare display of affection, and Kenma takes the lapse in control to slide onto Kuro’s lap. He’s so _warm_ , he’s always running so hot, but right now it just makes Kenma feel too warm. He wants to press up against Kuro and never part but another, smaller part of him also wants to run away and take a cold shower. He’s not sure if he’s sweating out of nerves or the heat or—

Kuro finally reacts with a small, pleased sound. He puts his hands on Kenma’s hips, pulling him just the tiniest bit closer, and it’s hard to tell who opens their mouth first. Kenma tilts his head for a better angle and swipes his tongue against Kuro’s, light and teasing. It’s coy enough to invite Kuro’s neediness out, and like it’s been years since he’s last gotten any action (it’s been about two days), Kuro melts against Kenma with a growl. The hands on his hips move upward, one splaying across Kenma’s back, the other fisting in his t-shirt and tugging it upward.

He’s still so easy to win against. Kenma would feel bad if he weren’t absolutely convinced that Kuro enjoys it.

“You know,” Kuro mumbles against him, pulling away only to nip at him again, “you don’t have to be embarrassed to ask for this kind of thing. I like it, too.”

Kuro tugs more of Kenma’s shirt upward, leaving goosebumps along his newly exposed skin, and maybe now Kenma isn’t so against all that heat. He settles a little more stably onto Kuro’s lap, and _maybe_ he’s embarrassed at how needy he’s already acting, in spite of Kuro’s assurances, but mostly, he’s already impatient. And too warm. Maybe Kuro has the right idea with the shirt thing.

Kenma grabs the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head and out of Kuro’s grasp. He’s not wearing a binder, which means now his chest is cold, too, so Kenma looks down his nose at Kuro with a _well, get back to it_ expression. Kuro happily leans up and captures his mouth again like he’d been commanded to. One hand reaches up to gently—too gently—cup Kenma’s breast, but he won’t complain because of the way the pad of Kuro’s thumb brushes across his nipple, and he can’t help but arch into the touch.

Kuro’s other hand buries itself in Kenma’s hair, a bad habit he can’t seem to break, but right now, it’s not _so_ bad. He tugs Kenma’s head back, exposing his throat, and leaves those little nips and bites that Kenma loves so much in a line down from his jaw to his collarbone. And back up again. Kenma wants him to bite down harder, let him feel those teeth in him, but now is not the time. Kenma grinds forward on Kuro’s lap, both because he’s getting frustrated and also to see how hard Kuro is—he’s definitely interested, but not _enough_.

“Kuro,” Kenma says, and wow his voice comes out as little more than a husky groan. Kuro shivers at the noise and _finally_ bites down harder near the base of his neck, but immediately laves his tongue over the spot in apology. “Kuro I—I need more,” Kenma says before he can stop himself.

That definitely came out wrong.

Kuro pulls away from him, slowly, and looks up like he’d just told him he’s supposed to be an angel instead of a demon. Kenma stares down at him with an honestly similar shell shocked expression. Kozume Kenma is _not_ vocal and he is _not_ needy. (…That’s Kuro’s job.)

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kenma belatedly corrects. He can feel the blood rushing to his face. What little hadn’t been up there to begin with, anyway. Good fucking god, Kuro is going to think he’s some sort of slut today—or worse, that he has some sort of newfound sexual power over Kenma. “I just… Um. I just want—s-stop looking at me like that…!”

“Anything you want, Kenma,” Kuro says and quickly buries his face against his neck again. But there’s a laugh in his voice and Kenma pushes against his shoulders with a scowl.

“We’re not having sex,” Kenma forces out.

“We can just make out, that’s okay,” Kuro replies evenly, voice muffled by Kenma’s skin. He tugs on Kenma’s hair again, cutting off his rebuttal, and leaves another line of softer kisses up to his ear. “Could do this all day and I’d be happy,” he adds. He takes Kenma’s earlobe into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth, and the hand on his breast switches from gentleness to more force.

Kenma usually appreciates Kuro’s considerate approach toward him—except at physical times such as these. Then, Kuro just turns into the biggest accidental tease, and Kenma has yet to properly correct that. He really ought to. 

But not today, because Kenma actually needs something out of this. 

“Kuro,” Kenma says again, but it comes out breathless. He _knows_  Kuro is grinning again. “Kuro, off,” he tells him. His demon pulls back, looking up at him with nothing but faint curiosity in his eyes—no disappointment there despite Kenma’s inadvertent hot and cold game. 

He shuffles backward, leaving the blessed heat, and Kuro tries to lean forward to follow him until Kenma is off his lap entirely. Kenma puts a hand on him to keep him seated and nudges his legs apart; curiosity tips into confusion when Kenma kneels in front of him. 

Well, that seems to confirm that Kuro’s never gotten a blowjob before. Kenma doesn’t want to dwell on that, but he can’t help his amusement at the way Kuro starts when Kenma reaches forward to unbutton his jeans. Kuro seems to realize about _then_ what’s going to go down, and he leans forward again with a short, “Um?” 

“Is this okay?” Kenma asks, head cocked to the side, one hand still against Kuro’s zipper. Kuro nods, but Kenma isn’t certain he knows what he’s agreeing to. So he averts his eyes and tells him, “I know I’m not the best at reciprocating this sort of stuff, but… just sit there, okay? Let me, um, t-take care of you.” 

God, this is embarrassing. 

Kuro’s expression softens, even if his legs move restlessly on either side of Kenma. “You don’t have to,” Kuro says, and now _he’s_  the one blushing, which only makes Kenma’s face redden further. 

“I know, but I want you to feel good,” Kenma forces out. He needs to vocalize these things more than he has been, and, well, he doesn’t have much dignity to lose at this point. Blowing a demon is a new one, too, although not embarrassing so much as novel and _not_  something he could have ever foreseen in his future. 

But enough talking. Someone’s going to pop a blood vessel at this rate. 

One of Kuro’s hands comes up to cover his scarlet face, and the other hovers on the arm of the chair for a moment before coming to settle, very lightly, on the top of Kenma’s head. Kenma can’t look up at him right now, but it’s not like looking at his dick is much better, when he finally yanks his pants and underwear out of the way. 

Kenma strokes him to hardness with one hand, the other one placed on Kuro’s thigh to make sure he keeps still. (Prone To Wiggling is the last thing he needs to deal with at the moment.) Kuro’s hand cards through his hair, still gentle enough to let Kenma know that he’s actively holding himself back. That should be fixed, then. 

Kenma leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss on the side of Kuro’s shaft. He drags his tongue up to the head, and he can hear the stutters in Kuro’s panting when he laps at the precome beading there. He’s not worried about the pressure of being Kuro’s first or even about messing up; Kenma only worries about how the weight of Kuro’s attention presses down on him. He’s unused to it, even during sex, even after all this time, even with Just Kuro. The newness of the situation only exacerbates it. 

But Kuro fists his hand in Kenma’s hair, not pushing him down, just for something to do with his hand. It’s a good marker for how Kuro is feeling, so Kenma takes it as a good point to wrap his lips around the head of Kuro’s cock and suck. 

Kuro makes a high-pitched sound that Kenma would have _never_  expected of him. 

They both freeze, and Kenma pulls off with a _pop_  that’s a little too loud. He looks up at Kuro for the first time, and finds Kuro staring down at him with wide eyes and the reddest face yet. His hand is clamped firmly over his mouth (his other still tangled in Kenma’s hair). 

He looks so honestly startled that Kenma can’t help but laugh. 

Kenma only realizes how mean it could come off as after the first chuckle leaves his mouth, but he hears Kuro snort out a laugh of his own a moment later. The tension dissipates, just like that. “I love it when you smile,” Kuro tells him earnestly. 

Kenma drops his eyes to avoid Kuro’s grin. “Shut up,” he mumbles before licking a stripe up Kuro’s cock again. The demon cuts off his teasing retort with a low grumble of a groan. 

Now _that’s_  a sound Kenma wants to hear again. (Not that the other one had been bad. He can try to replicate that one with him at a later date.) Kenma pulls back far enough to spit on Kuro’s cock, then closes his lips around it once more. He strokes what he can’t fit into his mouth—deepthroating is not a skill he possesses nor one Kuro needs to be introduced to right now—and settles into a rhythm that works before any more incriminating and/or hilarious noises happen. 

The rhythm seems to work pretty well for Kuro, too. He’s yanking on Kenma’s hair to the exact point of pleasurable pain, and his chest is heaving. Each rough exhale comes out with growing volume; he’s outright groaning more and more, and Kenma has to admit, he’s _really_  liking this kind of feedback. Kuro has a ridiculously nice voice.

“Kenma,” Kuro gasps out, and the tug on his hair is more of a warning this time. “Oh god, Kenma, you’re—”

Kenma hums around him and finally raises his eyes to check on him. Kuro is staring down at him like he’s trying to memorize this, fingers still halfheartedly covering his mouth. Kuro pulls on Kenma’s hair again, rougher, and Kenma groans against the pain, eyes fluttering shut. 

He increases his tempo, hand tightening on every upstroke. Kuro’s hips are twitching, held down by Kenma’s other arm, so Kenma knows he’s close. 

Sure enough, it takes just a few more moments and Kuro comes with a growl of “ _Kenma_ ”. Kenma accidentally swallows at first, but then grimaces and collects the rest of his come as best he can on his tongue, although that’s a lot messier than he’d anticipated. 

Kuro pulls him off his cock by the hair and up to kiss him. Kenma makes an alarmed sound, one hand still on his dick and the other flailing for balance, and he refuses to open his mouth. Kuro doesn’t seem to notice, at least at first, and his gaze is hazy and full of adoration when they finally pull apart. 

Kenma waves his free hand, ignores the mess on his other, and pulls over a small mason jar with a _pull_  spell. He spits Kuro’s come into it. Kuro blinks at the mixture of come and saliva Kenma’s left dripping down his chin, to his immense displeasure. “Didn’t think this through…” Kenma grumbles and wipes his hand, as best he can, into the jar, too. 

Kuro gapes at him as Kenma holds it up to the light to measure. 

He’s not sure how much spit is actually in there, but that should be alright, right? But even with that, it’s not as much as he’d been hoping for. 

“Kenma,” Kuro begins and grabs Kenma’s hip to pull him close. His smile is disarming, but Kenma braces for the inevitable. “Did you happen to need something from me?” 

“Maybe. …Yes.” Kenma won’t look at him, but he doesn’t exactly want to think about what he’s holding, either.

He’s never dealing with anything that needs demon seed as an ingredient _ever again_.

“Why didn’t you just have me jack off into that?” Kuro asks with an accompanying gesture. (Kenma isn’t sure where he learned it, and makes a face at it.) 

“Didn’t you like it?” Kenma asks in return, face burning. Again. 

“Well, _absolutely_. You were amazing and now I’m going to want to do that constantly, so thanks for that,” Kuro replies. He kisses Kenma’s cheek and wipes away more of the mess from his chin. He scrapes it off into the jar. “But you didn’t have to—” 

“I wanted to, kind of. I mean…” Kenma pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and stares down at his winnings. “I want to do things like that for you, too, sometimes. I don’t like how one-sided it is sometimes. And I also needed demon seed, so. Yeah. Two birds with one stone…” 

Kuro just sighs. 

“I’m going to need more,” Kenma adds, and Kuro perks back up at that. “You can choose how.” 

“Well, we _are_  going to have to take care of you, too, aren’t we.” Kuro presses another kiss against Kenma’s cheek, then down to his jaw with a happy hum. Kenma sets down the jar before he drops it. “Think there are any spells that need witch—“ 

“Don’t make me gag you,” Kenma threatens. “Now hurry up and get hard again.” 

“Doesn’t seem like something you can order me to do,” Kuro says with a laugh in his voice. “We get to do this the old-fashioned way. And while we wait for me, maybe  _I_  have a use for witch come.” 

“Don’t make this weird.” 

“ _You_  made this weird first.” 

“Did not.” 

“Did too.” 

“Did not.” 

“Did—“ 

It’s playing dirty, but Kenma shuts him up with a kiss. Kuro doesn’t seem to mind.


	51. kuroken: the fist one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied/lite kuroken(+bokuaka)  
> rating: t for do not google fisting  
> summary: Kenma will never get used to Kuroo's still-occasional slip-ups about human culture.

“Kenma!” Kuro calls with the kind of starry-eyed exuberance that normally only spells horrible tragedy for one Kozume Kenma. The witch, distracted writing a spell for Lev, only shudders and tries to tune Kuro out before this escalates. “Here, Kenma—fist me!” 

Kenma drops the silver spoon into his mixture and it promptly explodes in his face. 

By the time he’s done coughing and waving all of the green smog out of the immediate area, Kuro is in a crouch beside him, all sympathy and apology. Kenma squints at him, watery-eyed, and croaks, “ _What_?” 

“Tadashi taught me,” Kuro replies, still frowning. 

That doesn’t help the situation at all. _How does Tadashi know?_ Well, alright, he’s a human boy with access to the internet. He probably knew what fisting was by age eleven. Kuro, on the other hand, did _not_  need to know that term  _ever_. (The only possible worse situation is if _Bokuto_  had heard about this. Kuro, at least, can keep a secret and had half a sense of shame, at least when it came to Kenma.) 

Kuro raises his hand, frown slipping into a pout, and Kenma stares at him in something like terror. 

He gently takes Kenma’s hand, puts it into a fist, and nudges their hands together. 

Kenma lets out the world’s _hugest_  sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god,” he lets out before he can stop himself. He fist bumps him again, just to pull the frown off of Kuro’s face. “This is called a fist bump.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s cute, it’s like affectionate punching.” 

Kuro, apparently, has never been on the receiving end of one of Sugawara’s  _affectionate punches_. Kenma makes a noncommittal noise. 

“It’s like a greeting, right?” Kuro asks, squinting, trying to figure out what made it so hazardous to Kenma’s health. Kenma just nods. “It’s not rude? Or offensive?” 

“No. You can even teach Bokuto and Akaashi if you want.” 

“Hm.” Kuro looks down at his hand, then at Kenma, then back down at his hand. “Okaaaay…” 

Kenma is happy to go back to redoing his spellwork, convinced that Kuro will be distracted trying to half-explain another facet of human culture to the tengu, when instead Kuro snags Kenma’s phone out of his pocket. “Hey, wait—!”

“So what’s _fisting_ then?” Kuro asks, even as he types that into google. 

“Don’t put that on my phone!” 

“But— _oh_.” Kuro’s face goes scarlet as the results load, Kenma’s about matches in sympathy horror, and Kenma snags back his phone in time to turn off the video.

Neither speak, and Kuro never ends up sharing his newfound knowledge with the tengu. Kenma changes his phone password _again_ , too. 


	52. kuroken: the hormone one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken ("the not quite ot4 one")  
> rating: e  
> summary: It might be considered a step forward, but mostly, Kuro considers demanding Kenma a specific, special kind of thrill. Even when others may be listening.

Kuro isn’t certain why “hormones” are making Kenma act like this, but he’s not in any position to complain. He knows what human hormones are, and he knows that everyone has them, but who the hell knows why they’re turning Kenma into a demanding little shit—more than usual, anyway. 

Well, he’s not in any position to complain about that, either. 

Everyone knows that Kuro is severely weak to Kenma; it’s sinfully easy to get carried away kissing despite where they are. Kenma is using every tool at his disposal to turn Kuro into an agreeable (not literal) puddle, even if there’s the smallest voice in the back of his head, getting quieter every time Kenma tugs on his hair, that says they probably _shouldn’t_  fuck in Akaashi’s bed. 

Probably. 

It’s a nice bed, though. Very firm. The dragon bones add a fun atmospheric touch. 

“Kenma,” Kuro gasps as the little witch begins nipping at his ear. There was supposed to be a thought attached to that, Kuro thinks, but it’s difficult to remember it when Kenma plants himself firmly in his lap and begins moving his hips like that. Kuro feels himself pushed down against the bed—still largely upright, thanks to the bowl-shape plus a hell of a lot of pillows, but it’s enough of an angle that he has to look _up_  at Kenma. “ _Kenma_ ,” he repeats hazily. Still no real thought attached. Oh well.  

“Aren’t you the one who said we should be quiet?” Kenma whispers back. His eyes are lidded, pupils blown, lips red and shiny and swollen. He licks them and Kuro wants to recapture his mouth already, but his words finally jog something in Kuro’s brain. 

They have to be quiet because they’re not alone. _Right_. “Akaashi is home. Bo could be here at any minute. You’re going— _hah_ , Kenma, th-that’s unfair,” Kuro whines as Kenma bites down on his neck at the same time he grinds down _hard_  against his wakening arousal. 

“Please, Kuro,” Kenma says, face hidden but voice betraying a vulnerable, tender kind of desperation. “If you don’t want to… Please, get me off?” 

“I want to,” he says, too quickly, and _thinks_  he feels Kenma smile against him. “But the tengu can probably already hear us.” Their relationship with them both is a fragile thing, unnamed and largely undefined. Especially with Kenma. Kuro knows  _he_  likes them both, but he hasn’t crossed this line yet with Akaashi, and he and Bokuto haven’t done anything physical since before he and Kenma’s fight. 

“We’ve heard _them_ ,” Kenma grumbles. 

“No more revenge. You and Bo are forbidden.” 

“They’re going to smell it on me,” he says, voice lower and a little sadder now, and Kenma pulls back to look Kuro in the eye. “Like you always do. I’m still going to be an open book with all three of you, no matter what I do, s-so… I’d rather be a  _satisfied_  one, okay? Now please, touch me.” 

As long as he’s sure, Kuro supposes; he can’t hold out much longer against these blunt pleas. Kenma sighs in pleasure as Kuro runs his hands up his sides, to his chest, up to his hair, and he tugs his head back in order to kiss and nibble at his neck. Kenma is back to squirming, panting open-mouthed above him as Kuro works a sizeable mark into the skin at the base of his throat. 

They’re back to kissing in earnest, tongues clashing while Kuro slips his hands underneath Kenma’s shirt, when they hear the front door and Bokuto’s usual shout of greeting. 

Worse, they can hear Akaashi’s rather _quiet_  response, even if they can’t make out distinct words. 

Suspecting they can hear them and _knowing_  they can are two entirely different things, but Kuro does not have time to examine his sudden thrill before Kenma is tugging his shirt up and off. Kenma pulls his own off a moment later and doesn’t bother with his binder before he’s back to attacking Kuro’s neck. 

He doesn’t understand if Kenma is trying to _make_  enough noise for there to be no more plausible deniability, but he’s specifically moving them along at a frantic pace, using all of Kuro’s weaknesses and taking his hands to put where he wants them on his own body. He shoves one of Kuro’s hands into his pants and begins unbuttoning Kuro’s jeans himself; he can feel that Kenma is already soaking through his underwear—no wonder he’s so desperate—and the witch groans _loud_  as he rubs himself against Kuro’s fingers. 

The demon momentarily wonders if Kenma would just use him, at this point, rubbing and grinding himself against any part of him to get himself off. That, too, sends an unexpected, confusing thrill through Kuro, but he shoves it into the pile of Things To Be Questioned Later. 

“In,” Kenma moans against his neck, and Kuro doesn’t actually understand, since his brainpower is severely tanking now that Kenma has his hands on his dick. “Fingers. _In_.” He punctuates this with a particularly strong squeeze, and Kuro gets the message. Kenma doesn’t seem to have the patience for bothering to remove pants, which Kuro admires and is rather into, but positioning is also getting to be awkward. He can tell his wrist is going to complain like hell about this angle. 

With his other arm, he forces Kenma up onto his knees over him, and slides down his pants and underwear while slipping his fingers against the slickness between his legs. Kenma allows the disrobing this time, but he doesn’t allow the teasing; he stops stroking Kuro (rude) to grab his arm and keep him still while he thrusts himself down on his fingers. 

Kenma seems perfectly happy to set the pace himself and do most of the work. Kuro stares at him, unspeakably turned on by the sight, even if he’s feeling a little neglected—as if reading his mind, Kenma reaches down and takes his arousal in both his hands. His strokes don’t quite match up with the rhythm he’s set for himself, but it’s enough to get Kuro smothering his own noises, biting his lip to try to keep silent. Kenma has few such reservations and only halfheartedly tries to muffle himself in the crook of Kuro’s neck, almost as an afterthought. 

Kuro shifts his captured hand, crooking his fingers a little more, and Kenma suddenly stiffens with a cry. His hands on his cock falter, and Kenma whispers, “Again,” before he gets back to work. 

At least now there’s a little more for Kuro to do; he’s enjoying being used like this, weirdly enough (into the pile it goes), but it’s _far_  more fun to elicit these noises and reactions on purpose. Kenma arches his back more, pulling away from mouthing at Kuro’s shoulder, and as distracted as he is, his hands on Kuro aren’t quite getting him there anymore. His grip is too loose, rhythm way off, but he seems reluctant to let go even so. Kuro's hips tilt upward, seeking his hands with needy groans he's more used to hearing from Kenma. 

Kenma finally comes with a long, rough moan, loud enough to _absolutely_  have been heard, and he falls back against Kuro’s chest as he rides it out on his fingers. It’s not often that he comes like this—Kuro is more used to his tongue or his dick being directly involved—but his fingers are more dexterous, and he helps Kenma extend his orgasm with well-aimed, well-timed thrusts that has the witch shuddering and keening against him until he’s the puddle. 

He mumbles something indistinct against Kuro’s skin when he pulls his fingers out and rotates his wrist. “Hm?” Kuro prompts and uses his cleaner hand to comb through Kenma’s loose hair. 

“Condom?” Kenma repeats thickly.

“I’m fine,” Kuro replies. 

Kenma raises his head enough to squint at Kuro, looking unhappy with this. 

“You _still_  want more?” Usually Kenma is out after one orgasm, regardless of what kind. Kenma nods, averting his eyes, but brow still furrowed. “Well, no, I don’t have any with me.” He doesn’t point out that it’s usually Kenma’s job to make sure they have human-y things during their trips to other realms, because even hard and aching and feeling a little neglected, he's a nice person. 

“Oral?” Kenma asks, bottom lip pushed out, and Kuro has to look away from the sight. It’s too much. It’s _definitely_  too much when he’s still _very_ hard and has a naked Kenma in his lap. 

Kuro dimly remembers the tengu who are probably getting a fun soundtrack right about now. 

He wonders, very briefly, what it'd be like to give them a show, let them watch instead of just listen.

“Fine,” he groans, because Kenma’s wiggling against him again, and as everyone knows, _Kuro is severely weak to Kenma_. 

Quick as a flash, and momentarily confusing, Kenma pulls him off the bed (despite the shakiness of his legs) and begins yanking pillows off as well. He makes a pile on the floor, pushes Kuro back down onto it, and then straddles him. The wrong way. 

Kuro doesn’t understand Kenma’s placement—his ass is in his face, which is actually a very nice view, and puts Kenma’s head down level with his— _ohh_. Kuro doesn’t quite bite back his moan when Kenma first puts his mouth on him, nor can he restrain the way his hips cant up, seeking out the wet heat. Kenma makes a small, obliging sound and takes him deeper, pulling off momentarily to tongue at the slit, and then he brattily demands, “Mouth.” 

Kuro pulls Kenma’s hips down and licks a long stripe up him. He’s wetter than usual from already having came once, and tastes fucking _delicious—_ Kuro digs his fingers into what little squish there is on Kenma’s hips and buries his tongue inside him. Kenma makes a noise around his cock, and Kuro’s hips jolt upward again, and suddenly he’s a lot closer than he thought he was. 

If Kenma wants more orgasms, however, then Kuro is sure as fuck going to give him more. He releases one of Kenma’s hips to bring his hand around, thumb pressing against his clit, and Kenma _whines_  around his cock. He pulls off, gasping for breath, thighs shaking on either side of Kuro’s head. His breath is hot against him, and after a few weak, high sounds, he takes Kuro’s length in hand and begins lapping at it once more. 

He seems too distracted to take him deep into his mouth again, and he’s interrupted by his own desperate noises, but honestly, that’s hotter than anything else, so Kuro doesn’t mind it. He can feel Kenma getting close, trembling against him. The witch takes it as a sign to bring Kuro to the brink with him, and sucks _hard_  at the head of his cock, jacking the rest of his length with the hand not propping himself up. 

It’s one last noise, one last vibration around his cock that sends Kuro over the edge. Kenma comes again half a heartbeat later, shaking in his grip, moaning against the cock pressed to his lips. 

Kuro isn’t quite sure how long they both lay there afterward, but he does know he needs to breathe occasionally, and Kenma is making that difficult.

He taps his ass until the witch begrudgingly rolls off of him. Kuro sits up, blinks at finding Kenma’s mouth and cheeks covered in his come, and wonders if maybe multiple orgasms should be the way to go today. His mind is certainly willing, but maybe the body…

As if reading his mind once more, Kenma looks away and mutters, “Tired now.” 

“Now that you’ve made a mess of us both?” 

“Mm. Sleep with me.” 

“On the _floor_?” 

“We’d just get Akaashi’s bed messy…” 

“Don’t get my bed any filthier than you’ve already made it,” comes the raised but flat voice from the living room. 

Kenma’s face scrunches up in distaste, and he doesn’t respond; Kuro can only laugh helplessly into the crook of his arm. They need to clean up, but laying on the floor is strangely comfortable when all of his limbs feel like jelly. “Guess that answers that,” he says, mostly to himself. “C’mere and cuddle, even if you are messy.” 

Kenma grumbles, but scoots over, curling into Kuro’s side. He fumbles with half-numb fingers at his binder, and Kuro helps him take it off so he can flop more comfortably. “…Thank you,” Kenma mumbles and presses a rather disgusting kiss to Kuro’s cheek. 

Kuro reaches blindly until he finds one of their shirts, not caring whose right now, and drops it on Kenma’s face. “Before that dries.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

“You’re messier than I am.” 

“Am not,” Kenma sulks. 

“Are—”

There would-be argument is interrupted by a knock on the door. Kenma immediately dives for his pants, energetic again through panic, but it doesn’t open. It's Akaashi's voice that comes through the wood. “Bokuto wants me to invite you two out into the living room to cuddle, instead of laying around in your own filth.” 

“See, Akaashi thinks you’re messy,” Kuro says and Kenma kicks at him from the bed. “We’re coming! …If that’s okay?” 

Kenma is still pouting around the clothes clutched tight in his hands, but after a moment, he nods. “Just let me get dressed. I’m borrowing your shirt.” 

“’Kay. I’m just going to go as-is, if it’s all the same to you,” Kuro says around a yawn as he, too, gets up. He waits until Kenma is done pulling on as many wrinkled clothes as he’ll get before shuffling out to the living room, come-stained and still wet in places and untucked from his pants and with the most magnificent sex hair, he’s sure. 

Bokuto whistles at his appearance and Kenma immediately glues himself to Kuro’s back in shame. Of course _now_ he has a sense of embarrassment. The demon leads the way toward the couch, and Akaashi shifts so their legs are tucked beneath themselves, otherwise not paying them much mind. Kuro flops down first, Kenma positions himself on top of him, and Kuro uses Akaashi’s thigh as a pillow. 

It’s quite nice, until Bokuto decides to flop on top of all three of them, feeling left out. 

“Am I allowed to ask if either of us can join next time?” he asks against Kenma’s hair. Kuro stays silent, making Kenma answer for himself, since he’s more than fine with that. 

“…I guess.” 

“Kenma _is_  pretty difficult to handle because of those pesky hormones. I could use the help,” Kuro adds with a grin that Kenma can’t see but can certainly hear. He pinches his side in retaliation, and he squirms, which nearly unbalances their precarious pile. 

Akaashi puts a hand out to steady them. “I’m scared to see what state the bedroom is in,” they flatly remark, “but I’ll admit I _am_  curious what caused certain noises from each of you.” 

“Give him another hour, I’m sure he’ll be back to his usual demanding self,” Kuro replies, and Kenma pinches him again. He kisses the top of his two-toned hair, and murmurs, “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” Bokuto replies, and Kenma stiffens. Kuro blinks up at them both, surprised first by Bokuto’s reflexive response, then by the fact that Kenma _laughs_. 

Akaashi smiles, just a little, and turns the next page in their book. 


	53. daisuga: the not-birthday one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga, the most daisuga, it is the daisuga we deserve  
> rating: e for explicit as fuck. because that's what they do. it's very nsfw. there's also [this picture](https://66.media.tumblr.com/571324afdb46bac03615a937a8628f33/tumblr_o91kwjnhqr1rs2jpso1_1280.jpg) that helped inspire it if you want more nsfw.   
> summary: Suga isn't sure what Daichi plans on getting him or doing for him for his birthday, and it's driving him up a wall. Daichi, however, does _not_ disappoint.

Suga should have been suspicious when, in the weeks leading up to his birthday, Daichi _didn’t_  ask any terribly obvious leading questions. There was no “what stores are your favorites”, “if you could have a dream date what would you want to do”, or even “anything you want for your birthday”. 

Granted, Daichi knew things about him like what size clothes he wore, his favorite colors, his favorite foods, and a lot about how he preferred to spend his free time (what little there was of it). It’s not like Daichi was completely fumbling around in the dark. But he’s a cautious man by nature, a planner, straightforward, and Suga had received _no hint_  that he was doing _anything_. 

He’d been about to enlist Tooru’s help to drag information out of him, if need be, and he _would_  have, had Iwaizumi not intervened. Because he’s a grump who believes in surprises, even though surprises are stupid and Suga is dying to know what sort of gift or date or anything Daichi is planning. 

Which, to be fair, Suga probably _shouldn’t_  expect. For Daichi’s birthday, he had found out the day of, so his gift had been haphazard, to say the least (but enjoyable, he stands by). It’s not like there’s a strong precedent for Grand Birthdays between them. It’s fine. Suga isn’t legitimately expecting roses or diamonds or much outside of free food. Something wrapped in a bow would be nice. 

“Look at this poor soul!” Tooru cries on his behalf, even if he pinches Suga’s cheeks too hard while making him try to seem pathetic to Iwaizumi. 

“I think he’s only a poor soul because you’re hurting him,” Iwaizumi levelly returns. 

Suga, when released, rubs at his cheeks but doesn’t turn down his only ally in the Let Sugawara Koushi Have A Great Birthday campaign. “Daichi isn’t exactly  _hard_  to read. I just want a hint!” 

“He’s so thirsty for some attention and love! Let me help my bestie!” Tooru adds. 

Suga does not refute the whole _bestie_  thing. “What if he wants to travel? That’s something I have to emotionally prepare myself for. And there’s _always_  the chance of some accident or emergency, so plans need to be flexible—” 

“Sawamura is a good man, and I’m sure he has a good plan for you. Just give him peace about it instead of antagonizing him.” 

Suga pouts, because it’s far from the fact that he distrusts Daichi; he trusts him with all his heart. He’s just… not secretive. It makes Suga antsy. He’s a lot like Kiyoko in that regard, but the difference is that Suga is _used_  to Kiyoko’s Kiyoko-ness. For Daichi to be avoiding something like that, it’s strange. 

Still, Suga receives no clues. No suspicious receipts or behavior, no reservations at any restaurants he could find, and there aren’t any movies out in that timeframe that he’s really interested in. Suga has interrogated Tadashi about whether or not Daichi has asked him anything, but he, too, claims nothing. Chikara, Ryuunosuke, Yuu— _no one_  seems to be Daichi’s confidant, which means he’s planning it on his own, which gives Suga both high hopes and an increasing amount of _I need to know_  going through his brain. 

He gets his answer earlier than expected. 

It’s the weekend before his birthday when Daichi asks with an overly casual air, “Doing anything tomorrow?” 

“I’m free,” Suga replies too-quick, already thinking of how he can rearrange his schedule. 

Daichi smiles warmly at him, half a step from chuckling at his fast response, and Suga thinks his own cheeks might feel a little hot. He’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or Daichi’s expression.

Predictably, waiting is a special kind of hell. 

He thinks Daichi has the morning shift, but Tadashi threatened to kick him out (or feed him to Yukie) if he bothered him at work again, and he’s pretty sure Issei will actually let him at this point. It’d been cute when he’d been a stranger with a crush; now that they’re sappy lovebirds, it’s gotten old. Suga morosely stays home and laments—loudly—to Sunshine. 

“Are we going out? I thought so, but…” But now that he thinks about it, Daichi hadn’t phrased it like they were. He’s not sure to eat or not; he doesn’t want to ruin his appetite but neither does he want his stomach growling if they’re doing a movie or a romantic walk or a museum trip or anything else. Plus, he’s a nervous eater when he bothers to think about food. 

Sunshine meows at him and jumps up onto his lap. 

And politely sheds all over his nice pants. 

“Sunny, _please_ ,” Suga groans and picks the cat up, looking at the long, black hair now all over him. 

He’s trying to get it all off with duct tape—that’s what he should get as a birthday present, _actual_ lint rollers especially considering what a little shed monster Sunny can be—when Daichi knocks on the door. Of course. Suga unlocks it with a mark and a gesture from across the room, and finishes cleaning his pants (or as good as it’s gonna get) when Daichi peeks his head in. 

“You’re dressed up,” he comments, and Suga immediately wants to go change. 

There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue—maybe if Daichi would’ve _told him_  what they were doing, but his only response to Suga’s frantic texts earlier when getting dressed was “ _you’re over-thinking this_ ”—but it dies away when Daichi steps into the apartment and Suga sees _uniform_. 

Most of his higher cognitive functions die away at this.

“Oh,” he breathes, “this is a _sex_  thing.” 

Daichi, dressed in his ABUs with his jacket already unzipped, revealing a tight (too tight, Suga would hazard to say, happily) black crew neck, immediately turns bright red. He fucking _shouldn’t_ , considering this is definitely a sex thing and if it’s not Suga is about to _make it_ , but it’s illegally adorable despite everything else about this built, ex-military, six-foot model of a man Suga is _incredibly_  happy to call his. 

“I still don’t get this thing of yours,” Daichi admits with nervousness clear in his voice. Suga thinks he hears Daichi babble something else about uniforms or his service or maybe even how terrible the military is but Suga inadvertently tunes it out as he shuffles forward, reaching out to him. 

Daichi’s voice fades by the time Suga hooks his fingers into his belt loops and drags him forward into a heated kiss. 

He doesn’t release him but instead shifts so he can splay his fingers against his hips, pressing into the stiff fabric, thumbs still hooked into the loops. He can feel Daichi’s warmth through the pants; he’s warm, and solid, and steps closer as he wraps his arms around Suga’s neck in order to press their bodies flush. 

“Still don’t get it,” Daichi murmurs against his lips when they break apart, panting for air. Suga blinks up at him. “You’re so weird. But I like it when you get like this.” 

“I’m _constantly_  thirsty for you. Don’t kinkshame me.” 

“Yes, but the whole low sex drive thing.” Daichi grins, and Suga squints at him, bracing for his next words. “Seeing you act like such a perv really reassures me.” 

Suga frowns at him. He unhooks his thumbs so he can reach around to grope firmly at Daichi’s ass, eliciting a noise that’s not yet a moan but not completely a squeak, and he points out, “It’s my birthday. You should be nicer to me.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” Daichi replies with another peck on Suga’s lips. “It’s also not your birthday yet. Technically.” 

“So this _isn’t_  a birthday present?” 

“Well, it _is—_ ” 

Suga gasps in abrupt, stunning realization. “You wanted to avoid birthday magic!” 

“I don’t want magic in the bedroom!” Daichi cries defensively, not meeting his gaze, and he’s going adorably red again. “You don’t need encouragement, not on that front, and I don’t want anything set on fire again.” 

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, I just know it.” But Suga can’t be bothered to search for it right now, and gives Daichi’s ass another appreciative squeeze. “No magic, promise. Can we go back to the part where I assume we’re _not_  going out?” 

“We’re definitely staying in,” Daichi confirms and recaptures his mouth. 

It’s Suga who makes the noise this time, shamelessly humming into the kiss, pressing even closer to feel more of that heat against himself. He loves how solid Daichi is. He’s sturdy and strong and unbendable—except for when it’s Suga, and Suga absolutely loves that part about him, too. He can make Daichi melt, but the reverse is also true, and Suga does just that when Daichi angles his head to better lick into his mouth. 

It isn’t long before Daichi is walking them backward and Suga is sliding his hands up the back of his shirt, refusing to let go long enough to let him take off the jacket. (He doesn’t really want to let him.) The backs of Suga’s knees hit the couch, and he lets Daichi catch him, but he doesn’t want Amazing Uniform Birthday Gift to be couch sex. “Bedroom,” he pants against Daichi’s mouth, and his boyfriend hums an acknowledgement. He leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the side of Suga’s face, down his jaw, and begins sucking a mark beneath his ear when he scoops Suga up in his arms.

It is _definitely_  a good present. 

Suga gasps and clings to Daichi, half out of delight and half to balance himself. He can’t quite wrap his legs around him from this angle, but he trusts him, and it’s not as if it’s a long walk; Daichi maneuvers them around cat toys and down the hall, nudging the door open with his hip. Suga lets out a moan when Daichi bites down, so gently, but he still half-hopes it’ll leave a mark. It’d be worth it. 

He’s about to catch Daichi’s attention to tell him that it _is_  okay, he can leave marks today, when he’s dropped onto the bed. Suga bounces, once, too surprised to comment on the treatment at first. 

Daichi stands between his open legs at the foot of the bed and gives him an intense, contemplative look. Suga flushes at the attention, and he misses the warmth of Daichi already, but he can’t deny that it’s a hot fucking look. Like he’s sizing up a meal. 

To his initial disappointment, Daichi does not join him on the bed and resume the kissing. To his _greater_  disappointment, he begins pulling off the ABU jacket. He tosses it to Suga—who more or less catches it with his face, as distracted as he is—and by the time he yanks it off, Daichi is pulling his shirt up over his head. 

Suga will likely never tire of looking at Daichi’s body, and today is certainly no exception. He sets his chin on his fist, working up a suitable leer, and when Daichi catches his eye again, he laughs. “Enjoying the view?” he asks and strikes a rather ridiculous pose, one hip out and a finger pressed to his bottom lip like a coy model. 

Suga snorts, barely restraining an outright laugh, and Daichi snickers as he pulls his jacket away from him, probably to save it. 

Or, he could slip it back on and leave it open, showing off his chest and abs and Suga thinks he can _feel_  his brain cells stall out. It’s lewd, it’s _incredibly_  lewd, showing off just enough but keeping that stupid camouflage on and _Suga should not like it this much_. 

From Daichi’s expression, even he’s a little surprised at Suga’s slack jaw and hot face. “Not a word,” Suga orders, and it comes out fucking _breathless_. Unfair. “Get down here and kiss me again.” 

This time, Daichi obliges. He crawls onto the bed between Suga’s open legs, making him scoot up as well, and Suga winds his arms up around Daichi’s neck to pull him down for their lips to meet again. It starts off sweet, for approximately two seconds, before Suga gets hideously impatient and pushes his tongue against Daichi’s mouth; Daichi’s chuckle turns into a groan when he feels how forceful Suga is being. How insistent and demanding Daichi has _made_  him. So unfair. 

Daichi spends no time at all on his mouth and is soon tracing a line back down his jaw, licking over the mark from earlier, but works his way further down. Suga tilts his head back, allowing better access, and marvels at the way his heart is pounding so rapidly. Not much compared to Daichi’s, but it’s wondrous all the same. 

As if reading his mind, Daichi presses his palm against Suga’s chest, briefly, before beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. He makes short work of it, not fumbling even once, and Suga wishes he weren’t the hot fucking mess for once. He wants Daichi to be the one trembling and slack-jawed and blissed out. 

 _There’s_  an idea. 

The idea is temporarily put on hold when Daichi does not stop his unbuttoning spree with Suga’s shirt; he thumbs open the button on his pants and slides his hand downward over the bulge growing there. Suga groans and tilts his hips into the touch, and Daichi smirks against the exposed skin on his stomach. He kisses there, once, before shuffling back up to Suga’s face. 

Suga pulls him down for another kiss by the collar of his jacket as Daichi slots their hips together to grind, too slow, too little. He can feel how hot he is—he’s probably going to overheat in this many layers, that’s not new—but Suga basks in it, pressing skin against skin and _loving_  it. He runs his fingers back through Daichi’s hair as their tongues tangle again. 

“Pants,” Suga mumbles between kisses, not really willing to let Daichi go long enough to actually help him with his request. Logistics can be Daichi’s job right now. Suga wants kissing and biting and uniforms. 

“Hold—mmf—on.” Daichi grunts when, having moved to try to grant his wish, Suga bites down on the side of his neck. It’s far harder than a nibble, but he hasn’t broken the skin, and he felt how Daichi’s hips stuttered against his own. 

It isn’t until Daichi is trying to yank down Suga’s pants and underwear in one go—Suga is being remarkably unhelpful, as interested as he is in mauling Daichi’s neck—that Daichi pulls away from him to finish stripping. Suga wipes at his mouth, eyeing the mark he’d left appreciatively, but otherwise pouts at the lack of contact. His pants are crookedly halfway down his thighs, and only then does he lift his hips to allow easier disrobing. 

“I guess you’ll have to take those off,” Suga sighs, dramatically disappointed. 

To his surprise, Daichi does not roll his eyes, or make some smart quip about _yes his dick needs to be out if Suga would like more_. He has that hard, focused look in his eyes back. Suga shivers at the weight of it on him and feels his cock twitch at it.  _Really_  fucking unfair. 

 _He’s watching me for a reaction_ , Suga recognizes, but it is not enough of a warning, because Daichi begins unbuttoning his own pants and Suga sees _fucking lace_. 

He was not prepared.

 _Fuck_.

It’s just the hem at first, a flowery, decorative sort of edge, deep red in color. Suga is very, very sure that his heart has stopped beating; he’s certainly not breathing. He’ll give Daichi the benefit of the doubt that he’s not dragging this out on purpose, but every inch of the zipper feels like another year at least, and Suga’s eyes are _glued_  to the too-slow movement. 

By the time Daichi is carefully tugging them down his hips, Suga is a) harder than he’s ever been in his life, b) the most grateful boyfriend in existence, and c) already scrambling up into a sitting position so he can crush his lips against Daichi’s once more. 

His patience is gone. He fits his hands over Daichi’s and pulls, not caring if he tugs the lacy panties down with it, if he upset the careful lay of it against his dark skin. “What,” Suga pants against him, still trying to stare downward despite his unwillingness to part from Daichi, “the fuck. What the _fuck_.” 

“That’s about what I was expecting,” Daichi mumbles, probably to himself, and leans back to let Suga work downward. 

Daichi’s cock is stiff and pushing against the lace in the most obscene fashion. Suga would have loved to have seen how they looked when he first put them on, compare it to now, would have loved to have seen Daichi pose in the mirror and wonder at how good he looked in them. Because he looks fucking _magnificent_. Suga cups him, notes the twitch of his hips into his touch, and runs his other hand back around Daichi’s ass. The lace is snug against him, cut fairly high in the back, and Suga groans at the thought of putting his mouth on this. 

“Wait,” Daichi says, a hand against his shoulder, and he pulls away. Suga looks up at him, concern warring with his arousal, and he’s glad to see that Daichi is still smiling. There’s an edge to self-consciousness, and Suga plans to drown him in praise to get rid of that pretty damn fast. “Just—let me take these off.” 

He gestures to his pants, at least. Suga is keeping him in those panties as long as humanly possible. 

Suga doesn’t quite understand—at least let him start sucking his cock a _little_ , why is he turning down a blowjob—but settles into a more comfortable position on his stomach and puts his chin in his hands. “Please, continue the striptease, then. I’ll just be here making a mess of my blankets.” 

Daichi reddens again, clearly not wanting this to be labeled as such, and scoots off the bed to stand. He bends down to start unlacing his boots, of all things, and Suga groans again, this time in disappointment. 

“At least turn around so I can—” He cuts himself off as Daichi’s pants slip down a little lower, down further on those delicious thighs, and Suga sees _more fucking lace_. 

He’s wearing stockings. 

Fucking hell. 

Sawamura Daichi is in stockings and panties and it’s suddenly a great fucking thing that he’s not trying to be sexy about it because Suga is absolutely certain he’s about to die. Permanently, this time. Passing on and everything. Heaven is real, and it’s this sight in front of him. 

Daichi, already turning around with an indulgent (but fond) eye roll, is unprepared for Suga to throw himself at him and latch onto him. He stumbles a step, then allows Suga to yank him backward, so he’s seated on the edge of the bed again with Suga molded against his back. “What the—” 

“ _Daichi_ ,” Suga purrs in his ear, running his hands down his waist, past his hips, kneading into the flesh of his thighs, “did you wear boots into my bedroom so I wouldn’t see the stockings?” 

Daichi makes a guilty sound, knowing he’s caught now, and Suga fights with the uniform pants until he can clearly see the black lace tops to the stockings on both his legs. There’s no garterbelt, and he can’t see what kind of stockings they are, but he sees more than enough. He happily continues running his hands over Daichi’s thighs. He dips beneath the hem of one of the stockings, pleased by how tight it is against him, and sighs against the back of Daichi’s neck. 

“Weren’t you taking off your boots?” Suga innocently asks. He runs his hands up, ignoring Daichi’s dick, and rubs at Daichi’s abs instead. Daichi shudders against him, huffing out a harassed noise, and Suga tweaks a nipple in retaliation. “Please take off your boots in my bedroom,” he reiterates, sweet as sugar, and both his hands move south. 

Daichi _had_  been trying to unlace them, to his credit, up until Suga began rubbing at his cock through the panties. His movements falter, and Suga presses light, chaste kisses against his neck and jaw, pretending not to notice. “Suga,” he begins, voice amazingly hoarse, but he doesn’t follow up with any sort of concrete thought. 

Suga hums against the shell of his ear and gives it a delicate nibble when he pulls the lace down to free Daichi’s cock. He gives him a few languid pulls, and Daichi’s answering groan is breathy and still a touch raspy. “Daichi,” Suga says, touch growing lighter and far too teasing. “Boots. Off.” 

“You’re terrible,” Daichi replies. He manages to toe the boot he’d been working on off with force, and extends his leg briefly for Suga to see that the stockings are black and sheer. He rewards him with firmer strokes, even if they’re more distracting. “Do you—do you want these things off or— _fuck_ , Suga.” Suga’s other hand has come down to cup his balls through the panties, rubbing the fabric against him, up against the base of his cock as well. 

“Mm?” Suga prompts. He smears the precome around like it’s a game, making his slow movements smoother, easier. There’s enough of it; Daichi is making this sloppy, wonderfully slick, and Suga hums again when he feels fresh precome drip down his hand after a particularly good twist of his hand. 

“Don’t you—hah—don’t you want to see the complete picture?” Daichi baits. 

And it works. Suga releases him, and Daichi can’t restrain his disappointed groan, even if he bends down to unlace his other boot with lightning speed. He stands up, turns around, and pulls down his pants with the same haste, and Suga barely gets a glimpse of the full effect—Daichi in sheer, black, lace-topped stockings, his panties halfway down his ass with his cock jutting out, still wearing his open ABU jacket—before Daichi is on him with a growl. 

“You’re such a tease,” Daichi says like he’s scolding him, but the way he grabs at Suga’s cock is anything but punishing. Suga gasps and arches up into him, that full, firm touch more than enough to make up for the ache he was feeling. 

“You’re supposed to be my gift,” Suga replies, and that slows Daichi’s rhythm into a more thoughtful one. Which is halfway a disappointment, if Suga’s being honest with himself; Daichi can manhandle and snap and growl at him until the end of days and he’d be a _very_  happy man for it. 

“How do you want to do this?” Daichi asks. 

Suga weighs the thought of aggressive Daichi against the thought of wrecking Daichi. Both have their appeal, but his earlier idea wins out in the end, and with a flushed face and a sly grin, he tells him, “I want you. Roll over.” 

Daichi obliges, and Suga finds himself perched on his thighs, running the tips of his fingers against the slick feeling of the material once more. There’s a lot to look at, from this angle: he can see the tops of the stockings between his legs, Daichi’s cock laying against his stomach, the panties still trying their best, half of the jacket covering Daichi’s chest, and then Daichi’s expression. 

It’s _molten_. His pupils are blown, lips red and bruised, short hair a sweaty, spiked mess. Suga wants to wreck him further, wants it so badly he’s nearly dizzy with it. He wants to kiss him senseless, do that all evening, but he has a goal in mind and he wants that even more. 

“Roll over,” Suga repeats, getting up onto his knees to let him, “and hand me the lube from the nightstand.” 

“Not under the pillow this time?” 

“Not since Sunshine started chewing on it, no.” 

Daichi chuckles as he rolls, and Suga shuffles back so he’s kneeling between Daichi’s legs instead of on the outside of them. The little half-full bottle is dropped on his covers, along with a condom, and Suga murmurs thanks as he pulls Daichi up onto his hands and knees. 

Suga peels the lace down over his ass, admiring the indents on his skin from the pattern of the hem. So very, very unfair, but _all his_. Maybe he can convince Daichi to let him take pictures later. 

Daichi shoots a questioning look back over his shoulder, clearly asking _Why are you the one doing this if it’s your gift_ , but Suga shushes him and trails kisses down his spine. His gift, his rules, right? Daichi sighs into the covers, fists clenching briefly the nearer Suga gets to his end goal. 

Suga reaches around and closes his fist around the head of Daichi’s cock, making him jump and moan in surprise. Suga doesn’t stroke, not fully, but lets him thrust into his grip while he nips at the meat of Daichi’s ass. He doesn’t allow too much movement, but it distracts Daichi, so he gets a fucking _incredible_  moan when Suga finally licks his entrance. 

Suga loves Daichi’s voice, that’s no secret; it’s deep, smooth, and ten kinds of sexy. But Daichi’s voice in bed was the best thing in the world. That baritone became impossibly deeper, rough and hoarse around the edges, and if Suga really put his mind to it, he could push him into sobbing, gasping noises that belonged only in the filthiest porn. 

He wraps his other arm around Daichi’s thighs to keep him still, to stop him from either bucking into Suga’s fist or push back against his tongue, and Daichi quakes in his grip. His voice is already starting to catch on the inhales, little stutters and hiccups breaking up the deep growls. Suga fucking adores how vocal he can get, and he’s not even sure Daichi is fully aware of it at times like this. He just has to keep him distracted enough. 

It’s easy when he’s pressing his thumb in firm, tiny circles on the underside of his cock, occasionally dipping into the slit, but easier still when Suga licks into him. He pushes his tongue in deep, thrusting in and out, and Daichi’s voice gives out at the end of that moan. He pants into the covers, nails digging into his own skin, shoulders alternating tension and not depending on Suga’s little movements. 

Suga withdraws his tongue and gives Daichi a slow stroke from root to tip, and he trembles with another low, rough groan. He peppers him with little kisses, continuing to jack him at that same languid pace, and he can begin to detect frustration seeping into Daichi’s voice. “Tease,” he forces out with a voice like gravel. 

“And you sound like a porn star,” Suga returns. He releases Daichi’s hips and grabs for the lube, his other hand not leaving his dick, continuing his slow ministrations. He can see the tips of Daichi’s ears are red from where he’s seated, and feels a stab of pity. “I like my present,” he adds, and runs his hand down over the panties stretched tight across his thighs and across the smoothness of the stockings. 

“I can tell,” Daichi replies, grin audible. 

He has to let go of Daichi in order to smear lube over his fingers, and he can tell Daichi appreciates the breather. Suga has half a mind to touch himself, too, but he’s worried about being unable to stop; he’s too close to wanting to simply finish over the sight of Daichi’s ass and legs in all that lace. 

Daichi begins to move to take off the panties all the way, but Suga puts his dry hand against his hip, and asks, “Keep them on? Like that?” 

“Did I just find another one of your kinks?” Daichi asks in return, but drops his hands to the bed again. 

“My favorite kink is you,” Suga tells him, and rubs his lube-slick finger against him. Daichi shudders at the touch, sensitive from earlier, and it doesn’t take much coaxing for Suga to slip in the first digit. 

He’s careful to spread the lube liberally around, prodding and rubbing everywhere _except_  where he knows Daichi wants him. It’s easy to avoid his prostate like this. Daichi growls when he realizes what Suga’s doing, but he remains still, only faintly pushing back against him with a hoarse cry of, “More.” 

Suga squeezes out more lube before sliding in a second finger. He pauses this time, letting Daichi relax again, and reaches up underneath the jacket to rub soothing circles into his back. Daichi’s skin is slick with sweat and his face is red again, sweat beading at his temples, too. They make eye contact over Daichi’s shoulder, and Suga can _see_  the idea spark within his gaze. 

“Hold on,” he murmurs, and Suga withdraws his fingers as Daichi shuffles up onto his knees. He shrugs off his ABU jacket—to Suga’s loud pout—but Suga brightens again a moment later when Daichi drapes it over his shoulders. “Wear that while you fuck me,” Daichi tells him in a voice pitched low and deep on purpose. 

This is the best present he’s ever had, and Suga can’t help but throw himself at Daichi with a stupidly breathless cry of, “ _Fuck_  I love you!” 

Daichi laughs outright and holds him up, politely ignoring the lube Suga has just smeared all across his chest and shoulder. He catches Suga’s lips in another kiss, sweeter than before, but still deep and filthy enough to have Suga sighing against him. “How do you want me?” Daichi asks against his lips. 

Suga only pulls away enough to slip his arms into the sleeves—like hell he’s giving up this opportunity. Bless Daichi and his putting up with Suga’s fetishes. He  _had_  wanted to fuck Daichi from behind, but he’ll give up stretched panties in exchange for seeing the face of the man he loves. “On your back,” Suga tells him, and Daichi reclines against the bed after he finally pulls the panties down and off. 

He leaves them looped around one ankle, however, and Suga can appreciate that kind of filthy thought. 

He lifts Daichi’s leg, spreading them wider, and kisses a line down from his ankle to the inside of his knee. With his hand not supporting him, he presses two fingers in again, watching Daichi’s expression out of the corner of his eye. His gaze is hazy, mouth open, his chest heaving with gulping breaths. When Suga  _finally_  presses against his prostate, his head tips back with a throaty groan. His hips jolt, riding down against Suga’s fingers, seeking _more_. 

Suga is more than happy to give him more. More lube, and another finger, and Daichi greedily spreads his legs further to try to give Suga all the room he needs for this. “You’re taking them so well,” Suga praises, and red immediately splashes across Daichi’s face and down his neck. Lowering his voice into a husky murmur, he adds, “You always do.” 

Daichi pushes his head to one side, seeking a pillow, trying to hide the way he’s blushing. 

“I love the sounds you make. I love the faces you make—you come apart so well for me, but you always look so _good_ , Daichi. You’re unfairly hot.” 

“Suga,” Daichi pleads, embarrassment at odds with how _true_  Suga’s words are. He’s a sweaty, flushed, wrecked mess and Suga wants to commit this sight to memory for fucking _eternity_. “H-Hurry up,” he adds, so it sounds like he’s not trying to be argumentative. 

Suga doesn’t want to tease him, not this late in the game. He curls his fingers one last time, just for the way Daichi’s hips rise and his cock drips more precome onto the mess already on his stomach, then withdraws. He wipes his fingers on the blanket and Daichi almost throws the condom at him with how eager he is. 

Suga rips open the wrapper with his teeth and Daichi watches with a hooded expression, still trying to catch his breath. Suga rolls it onto himself, tries not to get distracted by his own touch (again), and hikes up Daichi’s leg to give him better access. He hooks one over his shoulder, bending Daichi and bringing them up nearly even. “Ready?” 

“Hurry _up_ ,” Daichi repeats. 

Suga lines himself up and pushes in. 

He forces himself to go slow, because this is already So Much: the feeling of the fabric of the jacket on his back, Daichi _so fucking tight_  around even this little bit of himself, Daichi’s stocking-smooth leg pressed against his neck, and the weight of Daichi’s gaze on him, locked onto his face like he, too, is trying to memorize this. Suga can’t help the noise he makes, a strung-out, breathless moan, as he finally bottoms out, and Daichi’s eyes flutter as he echoes the sound. 

Suga presses another kiss to Daichi’s calf as they both catch their breaths. Daichi’s hand finds his, and he laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Suga flicks his sweaty hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, and Daichi mutters, “Need a haircut?” 

“Don’t say negative things about my appearance when I have my dick in your ass,” Suga replies and rocks a little just for the way Daichi’s inhale catches. 

“I would never,” he replies, and he squeezes down on Suga’s cock, making him bite back an incriminating keen of his own. “You look beautiful, anyway. As usual.” 

“That’s better. Are you good?” 

“Think so. I’m definitely ready for you to stop being a tease and _fuck_!” He probably meant to properly finish that sentence, but Suga couldn’t resist a good opening like that; he grips Daichi’s leg tight and lets the other one hook around his waist as he sets a hard, fast pace. 

Between the uniform and the panties, Suga never stood a fucking chance, so he knows he probably won’t last as long as this amazing occasion deserves. But Daichi looks just as pent-up as he feels; his hands keep making abortive little gestures toward his cock, like he wants to either get off or try to prolong it, and he just ends up twisting his fingers in the blankets. He’s making the prettiest noises already, even before Suga knows he’s found the correct angle, and that only spurs him on further. 

He braces forward, bending Daichi further, and he shifts to accommodate. With the next snap of his hips, however, Suga earns a strangled _shout_ , and Daichi’s eyes go wide as he slaps a hand over his mouth. 

Suga grins down at him. “That it?” 

Daichi at least nods against his hand, and he can’t muffle another too-loud noise against his fingers. 

Suga lets him try to hide, considers it a challenge. 

Daichi’s moans and shouts drown out the little grunts Suga is making. He’d feel sorry for the neighbors in other circumstances, but right now, it’s fucking perfect. Daichi is tightening around him, clenching on almost every thrust, and Suga knows he’s about at his limit. 

“Touch yourself,” he gasps out, and the words are hardly out of his mouth before Daichi’s hand flies down to his cock. 

He definitely can’t stay quiet for long after that, but it isn’t a long time before Daichi is coming, streaking his chest with white, and that sets Suga off. He fucks them both through their orgasms, escalating noises and all, and he’s not even sure who’s saying what but he knows he’s growling Daichi’s name and he thinks he hears a _Koushi_  in response. 

He’s sticky and gross in the jacket, and Daichi looks like a debauched mess beneath him. Worth it. 

Suga carefully pulls out and sets Daichi’s legs down, kneading at his thigh again before taking off and tying the condom before tossing it in the general direction of the trash can. Daichi stretches his legs, then arches his back, popping something in his spine. “You okay?” Suga asks, voice a little hoarse himself, and Daichi nods with a perfectly contented smile on his face. 

“C’mere, birthday boy,” he whispers and Suga nearly flops on top of him before he realizes that he’d get come all over the jacket. He settles instead, neatly, into Daichi’s side and uses his shoulder as a pillow. 

The feeling of the stockings against his own legs is novel, fun even, and Suga leisurely rubs their legs together while he waits for Daichi to realize what a mess he’s made. It takes longer than he thinks, and he’s nearly dozing off there by the time Daichi prods his side. 

“We need to get cleaned up.” 

“If I lick it all off—” 

“You’re _not_  starting that again. You need mouthwash, too.” 

“I’m _tired_ ,” Suga complains, but lets Daichi push him into a sitting position. The come drips down Daichi’s chest, and he grimaces; Suga sighs and goes to retrieve a washcloth for him and gargle himself. 

Sunshine eyes him reproachfully from the couch when he ducks into the bathroom. 

“Thank you for not interrupting,” Suga tells him, “but that doesn’t mean you get to judge me.” 

The cat meows. 

Suga heads back into the bedroom afterward, minty fresh and feeling slightly more human again, and Daichi takes the washcloth from him to wipe himself down. He flings the panties down onto the pile of his pants and shirt, and Suga  _reluctantly_  allows him to strip the jacket off to be put into the same pile. 

The stockings, at least, stay on and Suga happily rubs against them again when they tuck back into bed. 

“The sheets are filthy,” Daichi rumbles against him. 

“Let me sleep.” 

“I suppose it _is_  your birthday.” 

“If that’s what you’re saying,” Suga says around a yawn, “then you can wash them for me, too.” 

“Don’t press your luck,” Daichi replies. He pulls Suga against him so they’re face to face on their sides, Suga’s head tucked under his chin, and Suga sighs, pleased, against his collarbone. “Happy early birthday?” 

“Thanks. Want more uniform _on_  my birthday, too,” he says right before he drifts off. 

Daichi doesn’t say no. 


	54. matsuhana: the stuck shapeshifter one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: matsuhana, referenced kyouhaba & iwaoi  
> rating: t  
> summary: Issei and Takahiro spend some quality time together over a few days. It's surprisingly quiet, because coyotes can't talk.

“You’ve been gaining weight, haven’t you?” Issei grunts. The coyote in his arms snorts at him. “I don’t recall coyotes weighing this much. Sure you didn’t turn into Iwaizumi’s seal instead? I’m sure I can feel some blubber beneath all of this fur—” 

Takahiro nips at him, a little too much teeth to be only play. 

Issei huffs, and lets the matter drop. They’re almost to the top of the stairs, at least. Fuck that hunter, and fuck Takahiro’s broken leg. He probably could’ve walked with it. Issei would’ve waited for him. He didn’t need to lug his fat, furry ass all the way up four flights of stairs—

An inugami pops out of the open doorway at the top of the stairs, nearly within arm’s reach of Issei, and the man startles. His foot slips, and he’s already unbalanced—Yahaba, already shifted, reaches out and grabs the front of his shirt. 

Issei lets out a belated, half-chuckle of a wheeze. Tipped back as he is, Takahiro’s weight only presses more against his chest. 

“What are you two doing here?” Yahaba asks, carefully polite, too on edge to pretend otherwise. 

“This jackass,” he replies, hefting the coyote, “got himself cursed by a witch. And his leg’s broke. _And_  Kyoutani wasn’t answering his phone, and Oikawa’s out of town, so that means I got to come crash your stake-out. Surprise.” 

Takahiro flicks his tail and lets out a noise that can only be a laugh. Yahaba works his way out of his Serious Work Face and narrows his eyes down at him. He hauls them up to the top of the stairs, strong as ever, and calls, “Kentarou, _your_  friends are here for you!” 

The blond comes out with a shotgun held loosely in one hand and a dark scowl on his face. Issei and Takahiro both grin at him, and his expression only sours further. Perfect. “What do you two want?” he asks, voice flat. 

“I want a bottle of water and for my partner to stop being a fat fucking dog for five minutes.” At odds with his words, the gentleness with which he sets Takahiro down has both Kentarou and Yahaba arching eyebrows. “Okay, so, he’s stuck like that. A curse, I think. And his leg’s broken.” 

“And…?” Kentarou asks, like he wants to finish with _what do you want me to do about it_. 

“And a little bit of sympathy and _help_  would be great. You’re a vet, aren’t you? This is a hurt animal. Let your kind instincts kick in,” Issei says. He sits down next to Takahiro, legs extended down the stairs, and his stupid coyote of a boyfriend limps over to lick at his cheek. The suck-up. 

“You know what would also be a great help?” Yahaba asks brightly, tail wagging behind him. “Finding magic. You help us find our thing, and we’ll help you. Right?” 

“We were doing _fine_.” 

“I am sick and tired of smelling that damned sock over and over. I’m not some hunting dog—”

“Maybe if you actually managed to find it,“ Kentarou growls. He shoves his gun under one arm and disappears back into the room, momentarily, before reappearing with a bag slung over one shoulder. “You’re helping us track down this leucrota. I can fix his leg but find a shapeshifter to get him unstuck. ‘M not a witch.” 

Kentarou plops to the ground next to them without waiting for an agreement. Yahaba sits down beside him, far more delicately, back in (small) dog form. Kentarou holds out his hand, and, like a dog with a shake trick, Takahiro sticks out his broken leg for him. 

Yahaba crawls onto Kentarou’s lap, and Issei nearly thinks it’s a hilarious echo of Takahiro’s needy dog behavior, but then the inugami begins to glow, softly. Of course it’s more magic bullshit. Issei sets a chin in his hand and watches Kentarou run his shining fingers over Takahiro’s leg. 

When he’s done, he shakes out his hand, and Yahaba gives a wide yawn. “Stay off it for another day, but you should be good to go,” the dog tells them, and Issei nearly groans at the prospect of hauling Takahiro back down those fucking stairs. “As for the shapeshifter…” 

“There’s a visitor in town who already has two of the covens pissed off. He came into the hospital to drop off a hurt bird last week. Didn’t come back for it.” 

“But he signed some forms, so you could say those are _his_ ,” Yahaba finishes with a glint in his eye. 

Issei does groan this time, head tilting back. Another trek across town, _great_. 

 

–-

 

“You owe me collar times for this,” Issei reminds him as he buckles the dark leather onto his boyfriend. In a decidedly non-sexy way, since he’s still a fucking coyote. He can walk by now, at least, but that means they get to do the No Ma’am He’s Just A Large Extra Furry Dog dance while going for a ‘walk’. 

Takahiro owes him a lot more than that, probably. As it turns out, leucrota are nasty fuckers, and it had almost taken a chunk out of him before Yahaba had wrestled it down. Issei could live without more giant dog monsters in his life. Yahaba is alright, and fills the quota. From a distance. 

At least the paper clenched in his hand buzzes with enough magic to let him know that this will work. 

“Ready for walkies?” Issei coos. 

Takahiro growls at him, ears pinned back, but he lets himself get dragged out of the house. He doesn’t have a limp anymore, but it’s at times like this that Issei wishes he had a car. 

Or a dragon boyfriend to ride, in a platonic sense (probably). Then again, if Iwaizumi were here, they could just ask _him_  for shapeshifting help. 

It takes an hour, including an awkward bus ride with a college kid who _stares_  at them over the edge of their zoology book, but their search finally leaves them in front of a run-down little hotel before his magic fizzles out. Issei shoves the paper in his pocket, groans again, and sinks down onto a bench outside the lobby doors. Maybe, _maybe_ , if he _really_  pushed himself, he could track down a room. A floor, probably. But that’s a lot more walking, and a lot more magic he doesn’t really have. As rarely as he uses it, he’s not used to this sort of exhaustion. It fucking _sucks_. 

Takahiro noses at him with a sympathetic whine. Issei wants to believe it’s sincere. He scratches him behind an ear while he mulls over options. There’s only a surname on the paperwork that Yahaba gave them, and no phone number or any other identifying information. They technically don’t even know what the guy _is_. Yahaba’s description had been vague, too. 

Issei figures he can wing it. They came this far, and he’s really missing having a human partner, all things considered. 

He walks in with Takahiro trotting at his side, and the poor receptionist’s eyes bulge at the sight of the coyote. “U-Um,” she begins, standing behind her desk. Issei puts his hand up to stop her early alarm. 

“So, what’s your pet policy,” Issei asks with a grin. 

“That’s… extra,” she says, eyes once again going down to Takahiro. “And it’s really only _small_  dogs we allow…” 

“Oh, he’s really well-behaved. Super quiet, too, promise.” 

And, at direct odds to his words, Takahiro tugs himself free from Issei’s loose grasp on the leash, trots over, and pulls the fire alarm with his mouth. 

Issei miraculously does not burst into laughter. 

With a perfectly placid expression, he deadpans, “Whoops.” 

“Pl-Please show yourselves out,” the receptionist hisses as the first hotel guests begin poking their heads out into the lobby, curious about the blaring alarm. 

Issei waits outside as people gather, scanning the crowd for what will hopefully become their new friend. “Help me keep an eye out,” he murmurs to the nagual, and he gives a soft huff as acknowledgement. “I don’t care if you’re colorblind, just look for light hair and dark eyebrows. Who knows how bad of a dye job it really is.” 

Most of the hotel’s guests are outside (most of them also grumpy) by the time Issei sees who has to be their man: he’s decently tall, looking exhausted, with light hair sticking up in a rather magnificent bedhead. He shuffles out behind a vacationing family with crying kids, hides a yawn politely behind his hand, and makes immediate eye contact with Issei across the crowd. 

The man jerks his head to one side, and Issei tugs Takahiro after him as they follow him to a quieter part of the parking lot. 

“You’re not a witch,” the man begins without preamble. His eyes are now fixed on Takahiro. The bags under them could give Tooru’s at his most stressed a run for their money. “Neither of you.” 

“I’m Matsukawa Issei, and this, believe it or not, is my boyfriend, Hanamaki Takahiro.” 

“Kuguri,” the man replies shortly. He does not elaborate further. 

“He’s half nagual, and he’s been stuck like this for three days now,” Issei prompts, hopeful, and Takahiro looks up at him pleadingly with his best puppy eyes. For a fully grown coyote, he’s damn good at them. “I was hoping you could help us. I can pay you.” 

“I’m not a witch,” Kuguri says, flatly, and finally pulls his gaze away from Takahiro. 

“You’re a shapeshifter.” 

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“The inugami at the vet clinic,” Issei replies without missing a beat. (It’s not really throwing Yahaba under the bus; few beings will willingly get on a rage spirit’s bad side.) “Look, man, I just want some help. If you can give it, great. If not, we’ll just leave you be to… whatever you’re doing here.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, Kuguri crouches down to Takahiro’s level. It takes him a long while to tell them, “…I’m a vedmak.” 

Issei has no fucking clue what that is. Judging from the glance Takahiro sends up at him, neither does he. 

He sighs again. Issei can tell he’s a sigher. “I’m looking for someone. If you can help me, then I’ll tell you how to get him back to normal.” 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just continue whoring myself out for my boyfriend’s mistake,” Issei says. Kuguri gives him a flat look, but Takahiro snickers in that canine way of his. “I can help you, yeah, but right now, I’m exhausted. Tomorrow?” 

Kuguri stands to his full height, glances back over his shoulder, and ends up only shrugging. “I can wait. If you want to keep smelling like dog, sure.” 

“He’s quieter this way. It’s not so bad.” 

Takahiro nips at his hand. 

“Can I sleep on your couch, then? Since you’re the ones who just got me kicked out.” At their blank looks, Kuguri tells them, the faintest of blushes spreading across his cheeks, “I sort of just locked myself in a room. I don’t have any money right now.” 

“What is _with_ magical people and stealing shit?” 

“It’s not stealing. The room was still there.” 

“How do I know you won’t set my place on fire or something?” 

“I don’t take up much room, you don’t have to feed me, and your boyfriend is still stuck as a coyote,” Kuguri points out. He didn't actually say he wouldn't.

 

–-

 

Issei, seated on his couch between a coyote and a cobra, wonders if he should just bite the bullet and try to buy a restoration potion somewhere. Surely he can find some back-alley place where they won’t ask why he needs one? There _has_  to be magic shops not run by witches somewhere in this city. Tooru wouldn’t know, but maybe Tadashi. He wouldn’t rat him out. 

Kuguri fell asleep the moment after he turned into a snake, and he turned into a snake the moment he was through the door. It was only civility that made Issei lug him over and put him on a couch cushion. 

Takahiro keeps leaning forward to stare at the snake, eyes bright and ears pricked, and Issei keeps shoving him back. The last thing he needs is for him to get bitten on top of everything else. 

Neither of them are really watching anything on the TV. Issei’s not tired yet, not outside of the annoying heaviness in his limbs from the lack of magic, and Takahiro is too Guard Dog right now to fall asleep, either. The volume of the TV is close to muted, only a dim hum of background noise. 

It’s too fucking _quiet_  without Takahiro’s deep voice around. Not that Issei will ever admit that. 

At some point, he falls asleep. At some later point, he wakes back up with faint hissing in his ear and a heavy, furry weight on his thighs. 

Issei cracks open an eye. The room is dark now, TV off and sun long set outside. It’s completely silent now, too. Takahiro’s soft breathing is muffled by his snout in Issei’s pants, and Kuguri’s tongue tickles his ear. And, what do you know, snakes make really fucking terrible pillows. It’s shocking he hadn’t woken up at all. 

With a grunt and several cracking joints, Issei sits up, and scoops the coyote up in his arms. Takahiro doesn’t stir, either, and he doesn’t think Kuguri wakes. He wishes he could sleep so heavily. Issei trudges to the bedroom, flops his boyfriend down on the bed, and gets as far as tugging off his jeans before crawling into bed with him. 

The next time he wakes up, it’s to a dog tongue licking his face. 

“You’re _disgusting_ ,” he deadpans, not shying away, patiently waiting for Takahiro to sit back. There are a few more slobbery laps to his cheek before he sits back, entirely too pleased with himself, tail going a mile a minute behind him. Issei feels a little less dead this morning on the magical front, but still stiff in general, and he doesn’t look forward to another hike today. But someone’s gotta save Takahiro’s furry ass. 

Kuguri is sitting on the couch licking blood off his fingers when Issei comes out into the living room. 

It’s _far_  too goddamn early to be dealing with this, and it’s almost noon. 

“Ready to go out and find your guy so you can turn Hiro back to normal?” Issei asks, decidedly unenthused. 

“Yes. Please. I took care of your rat problem, by the way,” Kuguri informs him. Takahiro makes a retching sound, and Issei elects not to remind him about all the gross stuff he’s eaten as a coyote. Or as a human, for that matter. 

“Do you have anything that belongs to the person you’re looking for?” 

“No.” 

“… _Nothing_? No letters, clothing, keys? I could probably work with pocket change.” 

Kuguri shrugs. “I’ve only met him once before, several years ago.” 

This guy, this vedmak or whatever, is going to turn _him_  into a sigher. And that’s from someone who’s known Oikawa Tooru for over a decade. Issei blames the stress on dealing with a new pet dog for the past several days. “Okay, do you know the guy’s _name_?” 

“Oh, yes. His name is Daishou Suguru. He’s a witch.” 

Issei facepalms. _Yikes_. “ _That’s_  who you’re looking for? Fuck, I could’ve taken you to his office last night.” 

Kuguri’s expression transforms into one of honest surprise. “You know him?” 

“I know _of_  him. A couple friends of mine have had business with him in the past.” So that explains what the guy is doing here: he’s looking to start over, probably. Suguru’s good at that kind of stuff. “Of course the snake wants to see the lawyer.” 

“I’m not a snake,” Kuguri replies, indignant, and Issei only gestures him up and gets Takahiro’s (dog) collar out again. 

They take the bus again, and this time they’re only eyed by a couple of old ladies who keep wanting to pet Takahiro. Kuguri politely gives up his seat to an elderly man, too, which leaves Issei sitting with Takahiro between his knees, feeling like a jackass. 

It’s a short walk from the bus stop to the law firm, and Issei ducks inside with Takahiro despite the nasty look the lobby guard gives him, just to get out of the humid city air. “Alright, just ask for Daishou and someone can point you in his direction here. Don’t tell anyone what you want from him unless they’re, y’know, magicky or whatever.” He’s not certain of the percentage of humans in this firm are, but he knows there are plenty of spirits and creatures working here as well. 

“I can figure it out,” Kuguri replies. 

“So, pay up. Fix him,” Issei demands with a shake of Takahiro’s leash. 

“He has a stasis spell put on him,” he tells him, and crouches down to Takahiro’s level again. “And you can either try to break through the witch’s magic, or try true love’s kiss.” 

“…You’re shitting me.” 

Kuguri glances up at him, stone-faced as ever. He pats Takahiro, once, and stands back up. “The magic will probably run out. Eventually.” 

“I can’t break a witch’s spell myself,” Issei grumbles. 

“Isn’t he your boyfriend? Kiss him.” 

“You’re _shitting_  me.” 

“Well, thank you for escorting me here. I hope you figure out how to properly care for a dog,” Kuguri says vaguely, and with a little wave and a halfhearted smile, he makes his way toward the elevators. 

Issei is left staring down at the coyote sitting next to him. Now, as a deadpan snarker, Issei is 100% used to bullshit like this. He himself had tried to pull the True Love’s Kiss trick on Tooru once in high school. _But_ , he doesn’t know much about legitimate witch magic, and he doesn’t want to vacuum up more fur than he has to from his poor house. 

Either way, he can’t do it here. He tugs on the leash, and Takahiro follows with a petulant whine. “Excuse me,” he calls to the guard, “where’s the bathroom in here?” 

The man looks down at the coyote with a thin sneer. “We don’t allow dogs—” 

“He’s not the one who has to take a piss. I’ll be quick, promise. Otherwise I’m just going to go around outside and pee on the corner of your building in the alley, like all the other uncaring citydwellers do.” 

That doesn’t impress the lobby guard any further, but he is gestured down a little offshoot hallway, and Takahiro clicks after him with a wag of his tail. Issei glances around the hallway, makes sure the bathroom is empty, and drags Takahiro in with him. 

“Since I’ve just put up with half a week of a mangy coyote in my life, you’re not allowed to bring this up, even in joking form,” Issei tells him before crouching down to his level. It’s a nice bathroom, at least, kinda ritzy and he doesn’t feel so bad for kneeling here. It definitely beats the nearest McDonalds or Starbucks. Even he doesn't love Takahiro that much.

He cups Takahiro’s face, momentarily wonders how to proceed, and eventually just presses his mouth against the end of his snout. Takahiro wiggles in his grasp, and then sticks his tongue out at him, into Issei’s mouth, which is ten kinds of disgusting. He pulls back, making a face, and winces both for that and the snap of magic that has one Hanamaki Takahiro, human form, sitting in front of him once more.

“You didn’t have to stick your tongue down my throat,” Issei grouses and wipes his mouth. 

“I’m going to do it again,” is the first thing Issei has heard from him in four days. Takahiro seizes his shirt, crushes their mouths together, and makes good on his word. It takes only moments for Issei to relax into the familiarity of it, grateful and glad and probably sentimental of him. Takahiro pulls back only for air, panting with his lips just a hair’s breadth away from Issei’s, and smirks. “True love, huh? That’s great,” he says, voice even lower than usual, and Issei lets an easy smile slide across his face to match Takahiro's.

“You know what’s also great?” he asks. 

“Kissing dogs?” 

“Collars,” Issei says, and gives him a sharp yank on the leash. 

Takahiro _yips_  and Issei bursts out laughing at him. 


	55. kawashira: the together one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kawashira yes you read that right  
> rating: k+ for a lil salty language  
> summary: Kenjirou and Taichi tend to bet over stupid things. It gets them into trouble more often than not.

“I bet you can’t pet her cubs,” Kenjirou whispers, extra quiet in the hush of snow surrounding them. They peek out over the edge to the polar bear and her two cubs, slowly walking away from them, the cubs circling around the mother with cries muted by distance. 

“…Both of them?” Taichi asks with a cock of his head. 

Kenjirou thinks on that. They’re young, but not _stupid_. “I guess you can pet either of them. Since I’m nice.” 

Taichi snorts, then melts into nothingness as he creeps over the edge of the ice. 

Kenjirou follows him, to make sure he does it; following each other while invisible is so second nature, to both of them. Ears pricked and careful to pick his steps so his hooves don’t skid, he climbs down the small cliff to the flat expanse of snow and ice. 

Because he’s an overachiever, Taichi tries petting both of them, and gets swiped for his troubles. Kenjirou laughs in his face as he helps bandage him up afterward. 

 

–-

 

Taichi ducks his head low to murmur in his ear, “Bet you can’t steal some pixie dust,” and Kenjirou elbows him in the side for his troubles.

But the idea is there, now. 

The goblin market is novel (if too hot, even without most of their usual layers) and fresh to both young bucks, and even Washijou’s near-constant barking can’t quash the thought of _all those things_. Kenjirou’s fingers itch with the desire to examine everything. 

He knows there are other unseen things here, can sense them as well as he thinks they can sense him in turn, but he’s the best tracker he knows. Taichi cannot compare, and they _have_  tried. He’s the better fighter, but Kenjirou can track down  _anything_  and _will_  find what he wants. 

Pixie dust in a goblin market? 

Easiest bet he’s ever won.

When a pair of fae catch him after tugging on their wings, Kenjirou is reprimanded.  _Harshly_. It’s not his fault he accidentally targeted some prince, but he thinks having his antlers sawn off is cruel. 

One is presented to the fae as part of an apology, and the other is sold that day at the market, and Kenjirou is left, visible and angrily holding back tears and feeling all too stupid and vulnerable. He _hates_  this naked feeling. Too many beings mix at the market, and too many of them have never seen any of them before; he could always hear the whispers, but now he can feel the _stares_  of everyone who wants to see what a tariaksuq really looks like. 

Taichi lets him hide behind him in the crowd, and stays visible the rest of the trip as well in solidarity. 

Kenjirou appreciates it, but instead of thanking him, he just shows off his palms, covered in pixie dust. 

 

–-

 

“I bet you can’t catch a fish,” Kenjirou says as they both stare at the hole in the ice. He thinks it was made by a seal, or maybe one of the migrating selkie, since it seems a little _too_  neat for nature. 

Both of them are _fully aware_  that neither of them can swim. 

Usually they won’t even be caught dead this far out on the ice. Forests and snow are fine, and ice is fine so long as there is solid ground beneath it. They _know_  they’re out over the sea now, several hundred feet from shore. They can see how thick the ice is, but they both still shuffle nervously. 

“What kind of fish?” Taichi asks, buying time for himself as they stare at the dark water. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Neither of them have fishing gear with them. They’re going to have to get _in_  the water. At least Taichi doesn’t have hooves. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Taichi begins pulling off his coat. He throws it at Kenjirou’s face, then pulls off his sweater and undershirt as well, and hesitates at his pants. After a moment, he tugs off his boots first, then pants, and for the first time, apprehension clearly crosses his expression. 

Kenjirou nearly takes back the bet. 

Taichi makes a show of dipping his toes in, and Kenjirou rolls his eyes. The taller (far more naked) of the two slips into the hole without any other theatrics, but he cannot suppress his immediate shivering. His voice quakes as he growls, “It’s fr- _freezing_.” 

“Big surprise,” Kenjirou flatly replies. 

Taichi stays a moment, chest-deep in the water, clinging to the edge of the ice and making it seem like he’s not digging his claws in. His pale hair is beginning to look shaggy, too; Kenjirou wonders if he’s going to lose form or try to turn into something better-suited for swimming. 

Taichi raises his eyes, expression already unimpressed and a little reproachful, and Kenjirou braces himself for a reprimand. 

Taichi is sucked beneath the water instead. 

His antler _clacks_  against the edge of the hole and he yelps right before he’s dunked entirely, water splashing at the sudden movement, and Kenjirou nearly falls in as he scrambles over the edge. “Taichi? _Tai_?!” 

He can’t see a damned thing, but he thinks he hears a _thump_  beneath the ice just a little to his right. Kenjirou drops the pile of furs and clothes and flings off his own coat before planting his hooves wide and braces himself. He cleaves at the ice in front of him, tearing a chunk out, but not enough to get to the water below. The second slice breaks through - 

And a crack appears beneath him, connecting the two holes. 

He can’t get enough traction on the ice before it cracks, nor does he have time enough to shout before he falls into the water. It’s freezing - worse than freezing, Taichi hadn’t prepared him for the way it clamps down like a vice on his chest. His clothes, soaked and heavy, tug him down just as badly as his stupid legs do. 

He’s sinking, and the water is getting dark _fast_  away from the surface. 

Kenjirou twists around, looking for Taichi, for _anything_ , and comes face-to-face with a seal. It blinks big, black eyes at him before cocking its head. 

Something nudges his back and he kicks, connecting with something else squishy enough he assumes is another seal. The nudge comes again, however, and with the cold mercilessly seeping into his bones, he can’t fight them. 

There’s a pull on his tail, then on his hair, and then he’s yanked _upward_  until he’s out in the air again and sprawled, shivering, on the ice. 

A wet, equally cold weight settles on top of him and he recognizes Taichi’s breathing pattern (even interrupted by chattering teeth) as well as he knows the stupid size of that body. 

They cough and shiver together in a pile, Taichi unrepentantly crowding him, and soon a head peeks up over the surface of the water, seal skin sliding off like a hood. “What kind of dumb kids can’t swim these days?” the selkie asks with narrowed eyes. 

“Th-The deer k-ki-kind,” Taichi replies before Kenjirou can rudely tell their rescuer to fuck off. 

“Stay away from air holes, then,” she scolds. 

“We w-were hungry. G-Got any f-fi-fish leftovers?” 

Kenjirou is too breathless and frozen to do anything other than growl and pull at Taichi’s ears as he proudly hands over the half-eaten fish the selkie gives them. 

 

–-

 

“Oh, do that again,” Kenjirou groans as Taichi’s hands pass through his hair and rub at the base of his growing antlers. He flickers in and out of sight, probably giving any number of their village neighbors a headache, definitely giving Taichi one. But he still acquiesces, probably because he’s in a good mood. He certainly didn’t have to be out hunting all day. 

“Do you want a foot massage, too,” Taichi asks with amusement thick in his voice. 

Kenjirou is tempted to kick him, and is also tempted to whine about his _poor, aching hooves_ , but mostly just wants his antlers paid attention to again. He lets his eyes slide close as he leans into Taichi’s hands, against his chest. They’re full, warm, and allowed to rest. There are few places he’d rather be than here, now, with him. 

One of Taichi’s hands comes down to rub over the fur on his ear, and Kenjirou squirms, cracking open an eye to glare at the far wall. “That doesn’t feel like my antlers.” 

“Checking for ticks.” 

“It’s November.” 

“It’s soft,” Taichi says, relenting, but continuing to rub. Kenjirou sighs, and lets him. He supposes he _does_  have the softer fur between them, but that’s because he actually takes care of himself, unlike _some people_. Some tall, shaggy shapeshifters who, despite being visible as a default, don’t care about how they appear to others. 

“The velvet is soft, too,” Kenjirou points out. 

Taichi rumbles out a laugh and returns to petting the fuzzy antlers. “This is going to rub off soon, and then you’ll get blood _everywhere_.” 

“They shouldn’t have sawn them off to begin with.” 

“Not our fault you got caught.” 

“Oh, just be quiet and pamper me a little more,” Kenjirou scoffs. 

Taichi hums, and falls silent, for a time. Kenjirou continues melting into his embrace until he’s lying completely against his chest, legs out in front of him, arms largely putty at his sides. 

And once he’s relaxed and pliant, of course Taichi reopens his mouth. “I bet,” he begins, and Kenjirou wants to plug his ears so he doesn’t have to ruin the moment. “You won’t make the first move.” 

Oh.

Well.

He was never one to turn down a bet. 

He’s glad that Taichi’s hands rarely leave his head as he turns in his grasp until they’re nose-to-nose. He looks _amused_ , expression open when it’s just the two of them, and even without the invitation on the table, Kenjirou likes these moments between them. 

Their antlers tangle as soon as Kenjirou tips forward to kiss him, and they must spend the next twenty minutes trying to untangle. 

Kenjirou still calls it his win. 


	56. yamatsukki: the shower one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: yamatsukki  
> rating: e...  
> summary: Kei is used to taking care of Tadashi post-job. This, however, is a new one.

Tadashi jumps, startled, even though he’s the one barging in and Kei is just sitting there, innocently reading. “I-I thought you were still in class,” Tadashi mumbles as an excuse, voice rough, likely from the cold. He shuts the door behind him and stomps the slush off of his boots, and entirely misses the snow that had settled on his hat. 

“It let out early because of the weather,” Kei replies. He doesn’t want to get into the ‘if it’s too bad for class it’s too bad for monster hunting’ argument again, though, so he lets the statement hang by itself. Tadashi grunts, noncommittal, as he strips off more of his layers. 

He’s still in one of his coats, the thin, raggedy one he’d gotten from Daichi years ago, as he rushes past the couch. Kei can see his face is still red; he’d thought it’d been from the cold, but that behavior is _strange_. 

“Tadashi?” he calls just as the bathroom door slams shut. “ _Tadashi_ , what’s wrong?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s slunk off on his own to try to patch himself up - a leftover bad habit of Koushi’s tutelage, surely - but the thought of it done so obviously leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn’t wanted Tadashi to go out today. That doesn’t mean he wants to leave him to whatever injuries he sustained like it’s meant to be a punishment, however. 

He knocks on the bathroom door, polite but curt. “Tadashi?” he tries again. 

He can _hear_  him rummaging around in there, the muffled thumps of what he assumes is more clothing getting stripped off, and Kei sincerely hopes he’s not about to walk into something particularly bloody. 

“Tadashi, let me in. Let me help.” 

“I don’t need your _help_ ,” Tadashi nearly snaps. 

Kei scowls and sticks his head through the door, mouth open to argue this - despite his prior wishes - because fuck, they’re supposed to be in this together, even if half the time Tadashi runs off on his own nowadays - 

There are no wounds to greet him. There is, however, an erection. 

Tadashi yips in embarrassment, but, rather than trying to cover himself, he just kicks off his pants the rest of the way from where they’d been puddled around his ankles, and dives into the shower. He yanks the curtain closed like he’s slamming a door. 

Coming back from a job with a hard-on is certainly new.

Kei struggles to collect his thoughts while Tadashi sheepishly drops his shirt over the edge of the curtain, too, now totally nude. 

“It’s an after-effect,” Tadashi mumbles before turning on the water. 

“Of _what_?” 

“Some kind of love spirit. I don’t know, I’ve never seen it before.” There’s a  _thunk_  of Tadashi’s head hitting the wall, and steam begins to collect in the small room. “It wasn’t a thrall, but it’s… ugh, I don’t know. I already got off once in the bathroom of a Starbucks on the way back. I’m just going to - _ah_  - stay in here and use all the hot water and hope it goes away soon…” 

“You don’t ask me to join you on jobs,” Kei says thinly, stepping the rest of the way through the door before he gets stuck, “and you won’t ask me to join you in the shower now, too?” 

“This is embarrassing, Tsukki,” Tadashi whines, voice halfway to breathless. This explains the hoarseness from earlier, too. 

“I wouldn’t complain if you come back more often with boners instead of bruises.” 

“You’re going to tease me,” Tadashi groans. He already sounds harassed in a way that makes heat pool delightfully in Kei’s belly. He tugs off his shirt and glasses, and yanks down his pants gracelessly.

“Well, yes. Move over, I’m coming in.” 

Tadashi must expect him - of course he does, he followed him in here - because the water is already angled away and he’s pressed up against the wall. He has his dick in one fist, the other hand pressing against the shower wall. His hair is matted down around his face with water, eyes lidded, lips red, like he’d been chewing on them. Even though the water’s near-scalding, Kei steps forward and claims his mouth, dipping down into the spray and crowding Tadashi against the wall. 

“At least -” Tadashi gasps against him when Kei’s hand comes down to cover his own, “- a-at least close the curtain, Tsukki.” 

Kei gives him a flat stare as he reaches back blindly to yank at it until Tadashi seems pacified. 

Tadashi pulls him down this time, releasing his cock and letting Kei do the work for him, winding his arms around his neck and keeping him down at his level. Kei is fine with this. It leaves Tadashi at his mercy, arching into his grip and gasping against his mouth in the most delicious way. Tadashi’s fingers wind into his curly hair, tugging and scratching at his scalp, and it isn’t long at all before Kei adjusts so he can slide his own length against Tadashi’s. 

They grind together, swallowing each other’s noises, before Kei wraps them both in one of his large hands. Even with the hot water falling on their shoulders, he can feel how hot Tadashi is against him, not just where they’re pressed together but radiating out of every part of him. His face is flushed red, from the roots of his hair down his neck and chest, and his chest heaves as he pants against Kei like he’s running out of air. 

Tadashi comes first with such an erotic moan of “ _Kei_ ” he’s mildly surprised he didn’t expire (again) on the spot. Kei keeps stroking him until he’s done, quaking against him and gasping in the heat of the shower, and Kei is too distracted chasing his own orgasm that he doesn’t quite process that Tadashi isn’t getting soft. 

Tadashi moves his mouth away from Kei’s, trailing breathless kisses against his cheek, jaw, throat. He bites, once, on the side of his neck just for the way Kei’s breath hitches. 

And then he moves further down, dropping to his knees on the shower floor. Kei braces himself against the wall, and Tadashi wastes no time, only pausing long enough to make sure Kei is steady before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. 

Tadashi stares up at him, eyes still hazy and face still flushed, mouth stretched around the length in his mouth. Kei clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself halfway quiet, but his voice already echoes off of the tiles through his fingers. He can barely handle blowjobs on a good day - Tadashi is as skilled at them as Kei is weak to them - but the urgency of this entire scene, mixed his boyfriend locking eyes with him? Kei must close his eyes to stave off a far too-quick end. 

He caught a glimpse of Tadashi’s hand working between his legs, however, and Kei groans again just at the image leftover in his mind. Tadashi is making little noises in the back of his throat, grunts and hums and moans that Kei can all too easily feel, in time with his hand’s movements. His own voice can’t drown out the slick sounds of Tadashi jacking off while sucking him off. 

“Tadashi,” Kei gasps, in warning, arching further into the heat of his mouth. The coil tightens, low in his gut, and he feels himself reaching that peak. 

Tadashi pulls off, at the last moment, hand working over Kei and holding his mouth open, tongue stuck out obscenely. Kei makes the mistake of looking, and the sight does it - he comes with a loud, long moan that covers the appreciative sound Tadashi makes as Kei’s come paints his face and hair. 

Tadashi licks the remaining dribble from his tip, eyes screwed shut, then rests his forehead against Kei’s hip as his head dips down as he finishes a second time. 

Kei catches his breath before sinking down to the shower floor next to Tadashi. The water has already begun to wash his face off for him, but there isn’t enough room for both of them, so they end up tangled together, both of them underneath the spray and not quite able to comfortably open their eyes. 

Kei pushes Tadashi’s shaggy hair away from his face and tilts his head back so he can force him to rinse off. “How filthy,” he murmurs, and Tadashi grins, tired and dopey. 

“Wanna know something even worse?” he asks. 

Kei isn’t sure he wants to, but he’s also _completely sure_  he wants to. “What?” he asks in return as he does his best to wipe off his come with his thumbs. (If nothing else, Tadashi seems to appreciate the touch.) 

“I’m still fucking horny.” 


	57. kuroken: the reverse au gaming one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken  
> rating: e  
> summary: (Reverse AU!) Tetsurou is needy and Kenma is distracted.

“But kitten,” Tetsurou purrs, draping himself over his demon, rubbing his cheek against the two-toned hair. Kenma huffs and tilts away from him, but Tetsurou follows his movement, plastering more of his body against Kenma’s back. “Pay attention to meeeee.” 

Kenma, since the contract has broken, has _greatly enjoyed_  the lack of threat of orders. “I’m trying to beat Nyx,” he says flatly. He’s only two-thirds of the way through the Nyx Avatar fight, and he knows he still has the cutscenes and final bosses after this. 

“Please, Kenma,” Tetsurou begs. He nibbles on the shell of his demon’s ear, grateful he’s tied it back today for easier access. “Please? This is turn-based, you can just let it sit for five minutes.” 

Kenma scoffs at _five minutes_. He may be good, but Tetsurou is never satisfied in five minutes. Or ten, or twenty. Especially when he’s in a mood. 

As pleasant as the weight against him is, Kenma detaches Tetsurou with several tendrils and pushes him toward the bed. An unsubtle message. Tetsurou is probably hoping it means _get started and I’ll join you soon_ ; Kenma doesn’t want to disappoint him, necessarily, but he _is_  busy. It’s rare that they have downtime. 

“Get undressed,” Kenma drawls as he commands his teammates to throw their strongest -dyne spells at the boss. He hears the rustling of clothes, meaning compliance, and Kenma is quick to tune even that out. He kind of likes this boss theme. 

–

It takes a shocking amount of time for a very naked Kuroo Tetsurou to realize he’s _not_  getting joined on the bed. He sticks out his tongue at Kenma (who doesn’t notice, as stupidly immersed as he is in his game), and wonders if he may get a partner if he puts on a bigger show than the game. 

He throws his head back, long hair flipping over his shoulder, and runs his hands down his body. He starts at his neck, lightly dragging his nails over his collarbones, over his sternum between his breasts, and down his abs. Kenma’s gaze never wavers on the tv screen. 

Tetsurou lets out a moan worthy of a porn star as he cups his breasts. Not even a twitch in his direction. He flops against the bed, legs lewdly spread, and dips a finger down to tease himself; Kenma narrows his eyes in concentration and leans forward, just a little. 

“ _Kenma_ ,” Tetsurou starts in exasperation as he sits up, because he can’t just get his hopes up like that to go back to ignoring him, but he’s cut off by a shove on his stomach to force him flat again. Tetsurou blinks down at another inky tendril coiled over his stomach, and he can see that it trails out from beneath Kenma’s (Tetsurou’s) hoodie. “Did you just push me with your _tail_?” 

“Shh,” is all the response he gets. 

“Kenma, don’t be a - _ah_.” His voice cuts off in a grunt when the tail trails up to flick over his nipple. 

Okay. So that’s how he’s going to play? Tetsurou’s game, he’ll play along with this. He allows Kenma to dictate the pace and what’s going on. 

The shadow curls over his skin, deliciously cool and smooth, and he arches into its touch. Kenma hasn’t said anything else, still in his game, and Tetsurou lets his voice go, loud and high and free, when his chest is attacked again, this time after the tendril branches. It’s no substitute for Kenma’s mouth or even hands, but it’s still Kenma at the same time; there’s a thrill in this kind of touch, too. It’s harsh and a little merciless as it tugs on his piercings, enough to make him quiver. 

There’s nothing really for him to grab onto, so Tetsurou fists his hands in the sheets for _something_  to do. He wants to touch himself, but he also doesn’t; he wants to see how far Kenma will take this before he gives in and joins him properly. 

The force of the shadow grows on his chest until he’s pressed flat against the bedspread again. It branches again, this time tracing over sharp hipbones and the inside of his thighs, and again he spreads his legs. Kenma would have quite the view if he just _turned and fucking looked_. Not that Tetsurou can see him right now, but he can usually feel Kenma’s eyes on him, and he thinks he’s still getting ignored. Or as ignored as _this_  is. 

Two tendrils wrap themselves around his wrists, keeping his hands against the blankets, and Tetsurou pulls against them just to test them. They’re as strong as iron, as usual. He admires the strength Kenma keeps in that small body, but it’s rarely as obvious as when he lets his settled form slip like this. The touches on his body are still teasing, quick, but growing in number. One shadowy tendril lays itself across his shoulders, keeping him down, and the ones nearest his breasts occasionally flick at his nipples, almost like they’re bored. There’s no rhythm to any of the contact yet. 

There’s also nothing really where he wants it. The touches are light, but aimless, and clearly avoiding anything between his legs. Several knead at his thighs, and that feels nice, but he misses teeth in him. (Better yet, he misses _fingers in him_.) Tetsurou squirms beneath their ministrations, volume growing again, and still no response from Kenma. 

The first touch against the wetness between his legs - a shy, tentative touch at the top of his thigh, _not close enough_  - makes him jolt and cant his hips upward. Another shadow twines itself around his waist, holding him down, and Tetsurou knows that particular moan is loud and _honest_. Those are usually Kenma’s favorites. 

Still nothing. 

One shadow slithers down from his navel in a straight line, and Tetsurou still tries to push his hips up, legs spreading as far as possible to silently _beg_  it to actually touch him where he wants. And, joy of joys, it does: the tendril travels down in a line over his skin, making him twitch as it bumps over his clit, and then prods at the slick entrance. There’s hardly a moment’s preparation before it slips inside. 

It’s probably the width of Kenma’s finger, if that, but it’s still enough for Tetsurou to groan and try to buck up for more. The shadow fucks him leisurely, small movements made almost unnoticeable by the wetness gathered there, and his second moan is far more frustrated. 

As if in answer, he can _feel_ it when it grows, doubling in size. Tetsurou can feel every slide of it against him, every movement against his clit, every point of contact between him and his horrible tease of a demon. Hazy-eyed and panting, Tetsurou raises his head enough to look at Kenma. 

Kenma is still intent on his game. His cheeks aren’t red, breathing is not labored, there’s _nothing_  to show he’s paying the least amount of attention to where Tetsurou is a squirming mess on the bed not ten feet away. 

There’s something kind of hot about that, though, but as usual, Tetsurou locks the potential kink away in his brain to focus on the here-and-now. And right now, this is great, but he still needs _more_. “Kenma,” he moans, not even _trying_  to sound like a porn star anymore, “ _please_. C’mon, please get over here. I’m begging, isn’t that what you wanted? I need you, I need _you_  to pin me down and make me scream.” 

“You haven’t screamed yet,” Kenma says neutrally. 

And Tetsurou, for a moment, thinks he’s won. He got Kenma to admit he’s paying _some amount_  of attention to this, to _him_. 

Then the shadow inside him grows, curls, and rams in _hard_. 

The first noise that escapes him is more of a shout, half surprised, but the second one can be safely classified as a scream. The tendrils holding him down shift, and his legs are brought up, knees bent and feet flat against the bed. He strains, he tries to arch, tries to ride down on the shadow inside him, but it does a good enough job at thrusting in hard, making him gasp and keen and scream. Every other thrust hits _just right_ ; normally Tetsurou expects a little more finesse from Kenma, but he genuinely isn’t sure how much is distraction and how much is teasing at this point. 

It’s enough to build him up, but it’s also enough to not let him come. The pressure on his clit is largely unmoving now, just the faintest of shifting when he squirms, and it’s certainly not enough. 

He then realizes that yes, this is _definitely_  a tease. 

“K-Kenma,” Tetsurou groans, voice cracking, fingers digging into the sheets. His next call comes out garbled, mangled by pleasure and his own increasingly hoarse voice. It takes several tries before he can manage a simple, “Please!” 

He does not get what he wants; he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. This is already so much, heat and pleasure building in his core and overwhelming him. 

He wants to come. He doesn’t want this to end, even with Kenma’s supposed dismissal of him, but he wants to finish _so badly_. Tears prick at his eyes and his gasps are beginning to come out closer to sobs, and even then he doesn’t stop begging. “Please, Kenma pl- _please_ , I need you, I need you so bad - oh god, _right there_! Kenma, please, _please please please_ , I need you!” 

His voice is a raspy wreck, entire body trembling, sweat covering him in a sheen. The pace of the shadow within him grows erratic, and Tetsurou shouts again, wordless and cracked; he hopes this means an end in sight, an end with _Kenma_  giving in and giving him what he wants. But the rhythm picks back up, faster now, more forceful, and his throat burns from the volume of the cries leaving him. 

It still isn’t enough. He needs more. He needs Kenma, he needs to come. 

He doesn’t know which is the greater desire anymore. 

Then the shadows stop entirely. 

Tetsurou keens and wails, wriggling against his bonds, trying in vain to ride down on it to chase his completion. It doesn’t work, and in fact a few of the tendrils holding him in place goes lax, allowing him to squirm even further. 

He’s almost worked a hand free when he registers two things: a presence standing over him and the drone of credits music. 

“Shh,” Kenma says, and leans down to place a kiss at the corner of his eye. He’s warm, almost hot compared to the shadows twined around Tetsurou. 

“Please,” Tetsurou begs again. 

“Okay, yes. Now, yes,” Kenma whispers against his skin, trailing painfully tender kisses down his jaw and throat. All Tetsurou wants it the hard, fast fucking back; he needs to come like _yesterday_ , but still his heart melts at Kenma’s softness. 

Something bumps against his thigh and, well, _metaphorical_  softness.

Kenma laces their fingers together, rubbing circles with his thumbs into Tetsurou’s knuckle, and kisses his way down his chest. He places a line of pecks against his sternum, down to his belly button, and further down still. 

Tetsurou, still gulping air and tingly all over, props himself up on one elbow to watch as Kenma, eyes locked on his, lowers his mouth to lap at his clit. The lack of significant prior action means he’s not oversensitive, and he moans softly at the gentle touches. Kenma doesn’t seem intent on teasing him further; he slides two fingers into Tetsurou, crooking them and pressing, sucking at his clit. 

The build is a tangible ball of heat in his stomach, and Tetsurou reaches down to tangle a hand in Kenma’s hair. Kenma hums against him and Tetsurou cannot help the jolt of his hips at the vibrations. He does it again just to be difficult. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Tetsurou groans, “Kenma, god. Just like that.” 

Shadows come up to pet at his sides, scratching lightly against the dark skin, running up to play with his piercings again. Tetsurou is squirming again, this time in a different way, something closer to getting off and before he knows it, he’s _there_. 

Tetsurou comes against Kenma’s mouth, hand tight in his hair, completely silent. 

Kenma laps him through it until he’s twitching with aftershocks, and only then pulls away and pulls out his fingers. His shoulders shake, and only then does Tetsurou notice the movement of his other arm; he tightens his hand in Kenma’s hair for the way he moans softly into the touch, and Kenma tenses and comes in his hand a moment later. 

“Sorry,” are the first words out of Kenma’s mouth as he places a kiss against Tetsurou’s thigh. 

“For what, kitten?” Tetsurou asks in return. He cards his fingers through that two-toned hair, the rest of him drowsy and pleased with the afterglow. 

“I kind of forgot about you at a couple points. I beat my boss, though.” 

Tetsurou laughs; that certainly hadn’t felt like getting forgotten. He extends his hands and beckons Kenma up, allowing him to wipe off his hands on the bedsheets. “You can cuddle me as apology.” 

“Are you sore?” 

“Not any sorer than I wanted to be.” 

“Good, I guess,” Kenma hums against him and buries himself into Tetsurou’s side. Tetsurou is ready to drift off, and the last thing he feels is a playful little pinch from another shadow. 


	58. ensemble: the childhood one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: mild oimakki   
> rating: t for tsad  
> summary: Childhood is a different experience for everyone.

Suga is old enough to know that _PRIVATE PROPERTY_  is perhaps something he should heed. 

Suga is also old enough to be rebellious, and surly at having been reprimanded for staying out past his _stupid_  early curfew, because his friend’s house had been almost a half hour bike ride, and maybe if his parents drove him from time to time he wouldn’t be constantly late. He hasn’t been grounded, _yet_ , but the threat hangs over his head. 

This park is closer. He wouldn’t be late returning from it, since it’s about a five minute ride, if that. 

He’s not supposed to be here, but there’s a swingset, and he’s still young enough to angrily kick himself back and forth while he curses the fact that he was canceled on and thus snuck into this place for nothing. He could definitely get grounded for this, for _another_  thing that isn’t his stupid curfew, and this risk has had no reward. It worsens his mood. 

And then, his mood goes from terrible to downright nuclear when someone pushes him off his seat on his backswing. He tumbles down face-first into the dirt, and is on his feet in a flash, muddy and livid. Suga doesn’t lose his temper often, that’s for sure, but his parents will kill him if he gets grass stains on any more clothes, and he knows his mother will yell for mud, too. 

“I’m so sorry!” 

There’s a girl standing perhaps fifty feet back, almost on the other side of the lot, shouting to be heard. 

Suga has no idea what she’s apologizing for; there’s actually no one directly behind him, and he doesn’t know who pushed him. He does, however, notice the kitten sitting by the girl’s feet, a fluffy yellow thing that soothes his mood in a way the apology does not. 

“I didn’t think it’d go that way!” the girl calls, hands cupped. “Are you okay?!” 

Suga squints at her, and looks around the otherwise empty park once more. “What are you talking about?” he shouts back. 

“I was trying to write something ‘cause I’m a spellwriter ‘cause my mom says I’m special but I can’t really get the hang of it yet! I didn’t mean to push you!” 

“ _What_?” 

“I said I was _sorry_!” 

Suga is kind of sure they’d just stand here shouting at each other until he has to go home, and he doesn’t want to waste his afternoon like that. He stomps over, trying to maintain an offended facade, but curiosity is winning. The girl is cute, small, with waves of short brown hair held in a variety of haphazard directions with a multitude of barrettes. She has a round face and a snub nose, but there are scrapes on her knees and her clothes are the hand-me-down type that are allowed to get dirty. 

“I’m no good at healing, but you’re alright, right?” she asks, peering up at him. 

“You’re weird,” Suga informs her. “Is that your cat?” 

“Yeah, this is Sunshine!” She scoops the kitten up and holds it out with pride and a grin from ear to ear. “He’s my familiar. Where’s yours? What is it?” 

“I… don’t have any pets.” 

“Not a pet, your _familiar_ ,” she repeats like he’s dumb. 

Suga stares at her, confused, suspicious, and wondering if he could laugh at her without seeming rude. 

The kitten wiggles in her grasp, and after a moment, she lowers her arms and her smile becomes frozen in fear. “U-Uh,” she says in a suddenly squeaky voice, “you _are_  one of the coven kids, right?” 

“What’s a coven?” Suga asks in return. 

 

–-

 

“Hey Tooru!” Makki nearly yells in his ear. “Do you have a migraine again today?!” 

“Shut up,” Tooru moans, head in his hand. Mattsun snickers into his fist, because he’s a cruel guy like that. “I don’t care how many nice thoughts you two have and pretend you don’t, _let there be some peace and quiet_. Please, don’t make me beg.” 

“Aw, babe.” Makki plops down on the bench next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Tooru leans against him and soaks up the sympathy like a sponge. “No nausea today?” 

“No. I just. I need to keep my eyes closed for awhile.” 

“Coach is going to think you’re pregnant with how often you call out of practice now,” Mattsun idly remarks, and Tooru flaps a hand in his vague direction to try to smack him. He indulgently steps into his range. “C’mon, captain, where’s your workaholic stubbornness?” 

“Go and find me a better brain,” Tooru grouses. 

“Tilt your head up,” Makki says, and eyes still screwed shut, Tooru obeys. He feels something soft and damp pat at his mouth. “You have another nosebleed. Second one today?” 

“Third.” 

“Do you know what’s causing it this time?” 

“There’s a full moon,” Mattsun suggests, and allows Tooru to halfheartedly swat at him again. “That time of the month?” 

“Guys do have cycles, you know,” Makki replies. “I’m not sure if they sync up, but god, it’d explain some of the pissiness we see in the club room every so often. The alpha male bullshit gets _real_  tiring when everyone reeks of testosterone.” 

“Pee on them and declare your dominance once and for all.” 

“I’ll pee on _you_.” 

“Not my kink, sorry. And I wouldn’t want to step on captain’s toes.” 

“You know we’d invite you into our bed any time,” Makki croons, and Mattsun replies with a dreamy sigh. Tooru gets the mental image of fluttering eyelashes and clasped hands, too. 

“I want to go home,” Tooru mumbles, drawing their attention again. He doesn’t have the patience for their banter today. 

“Alright, up you go.” Without further prompting, Makki hauls him upright, arm snaking around his waist for support. “Think quiet thoughts, and when you get home, practice your damn meditation for once.” 

“I just want to sleep this off.” 

“They’re going to continue unless you work on your mental blocks. This is like getting a brain volleyball to the, well, brain. That one got away from me.” 

“Your razor sharp wit will never be able to heal me at this rate,” Tooru mumbles. 

Makki scoffs and digs his fingers into Tooru’s side. “The sass! You must not be feeling _too_  bad - oh, wait, hold on. Your nose is bleeding again.” 

Tooru laughs hollowly at the victory. 

 

–-

 

“Sweetheart, get _off_  that dangerous thing!” 

“But I gotta practice.” 

“ _Off_  it, now, or you’re grounded, young lady!” 

Kenma meekly lands the broom. He clutches it, going as far as to frown, but his father takes it from him anyway. He was told by his magic tutor that he had to practice basic skills, and flying is better learned earlier. He’d read that in one of the books she’d loaned him. At least his parents haven’t tried taking those away yet. 

“What if we didn’t…” His mother trails off meaningfully, arms folded, half-turned from Kenma. As if he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He thinks they have this argument weekly now. 

“She’s a witch, we can’t change that.” 

Kenma twitches at the first word. He really should just stay in the backyard and move out of hearing range. He doesn’t want to hear this _again_. 

“I just don’t understand.” That should be his mother’s introduction with how often he hears it. There’s _so much_  she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand Kenma, no part of him, no part of _him_. He begins to think, late at night, that the magic may be the least of his problems. He’s terrified to think of how she’ll react if he’d ever come out. 

She already asks why he doesn’t wear dresses more often. 

The final straw involves a broken broom, a basilisk, and the innocent question of “What could have lured it all the way out here?” by his tutor. 

“That’s it! No more of this magic!” his father roars and throws the broken broom into the trash. “I’m sick and tired of all this trouble, it’s not worth it! You could have died today. No more witch bullshit, no more magic, and definitely no more _monsters_  in our backyard!” 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Kenma whispers. 

“Honey, you just need to… We’re going to put this behind us. No more witch business,” his mother tells him, gentler than her husband. 

“But I’m a witch,” Kenma replies, still too quiet. 

“You’re going to be a normal girl again, okay? We can get you that new game you wanted, you just have to promise me not to use any more of that magic.” 

“But I’m a boy,” Kenma tells her, the quietest yet. 

He gets a new nintendo game and shuts up. He bites back every itch in his fingertips, every spell on his tongue, every flinch at the wrong labels. They’re his parents. He’s _supposed_  to fight with them. He has video games, and nice clothes, and he loves his mother’s apple pie. She’s slowly trying to teach him how to bake it, with “mother-daughter bonding sessions”, as she calls them. 

He keeps telling himself that there are Good Things, too. 

He learns the value of secrecy. He goes to websites about people like him, joins forums and makes friends. His first real friend at school is the only out kid in his entire school. Kenma has nightmares for a week that she could somehow read every flinch, frown, or bitten-back correction, that she just _knows_ , but as he later finds out, she had just liked his hair. 

The first time he writes his own spell, it’s to gain access to a website with magic coded into it. 

And suddenly, everything comes back to him. It’s like he hadn’t spent the past several years ignoring this side of himself. He has a knack for it he had never shown before, not even under his tutor, and Kenma throws himself into it. He charms his way into game cheats, hacks into websites to get around passwords, writes spells for finding witch websites to start finding _real_  magic. He absorbs runes like his native tongue. 

And it ends when he forgets to clear his browser history, just once.

It hadn’t even been the magic things. 

“Are you talking to strangers online?” 

“No, mom. They’re friends of mine.” 

“And _applepi_  is you? That’s your username? What _are_  these sites?” 

“They’re just -” 

“Are you gay?” 

“N-No, mom, I -” 

“Lesbian, sorry. You can tell me. We don’t have to let your father know, we can figure this out ourselves. Is this why you don’t want to wear dresses anymore? Are you trying to be _butch_?” 

“ _No_ , mom, just listen -” 

“I just don’t understand,” she sighs, sadly, like the very existence of the website is breaking her heart. 

“No, you don’t,” Kenma bites out. 

She turns to him like he burned her. 

And that’s the beginning of he end, really. In a fit of angry fear, spurred on by his mother’s yelling and desperate pleas to _just be normal again_ , Kenma demands to be a boy in her eyes. A male witch. To be _everything_  that he is, to be decidedly _not_  normal, to stop having to keep these secrets. 

And she tells his father. 

Kenma is in the care of social workers by month’s end. He’s not yet fourteen, and he doesn’t care for homes or foster families or sympathetic covens. Half of them call him a girl, half of them don’t know about magic; he’s not going to ignore either part, and he can’t deal with the quash of new people probing into either part. 

He gets a term for his creative side - spellwriter - and it isn’t long before he defects into magical care, since normal social workers can’t prevent him from running away, try as they might. And, as it turns out, not even witches can keep a lid on him. Kenma is fifteen by the time he gets away, for good, and he doesn’t look back. 


	59. au: the blooper one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: who isn't shipped at this point  
> rating: t probably  
> summary: It's not a movie if there's not bloopers, and unfortunately, some are more on-purpose than others.

“You have to promise me you’ll be safe,” Suga says, fingers tight on Daichi’s shoulders. They’re both covered in soot and grime and there’s a smear of blood - not Suga’s, for once - along the bottom of his jaw. “Please, _please_ , stay safe. I can’t save a world without you in it.” 

“I can’t lose you again,” Daichi murmurs, breath hot on Suga’s face as they lean close together. “You can’t leave me, Koushi. Y-You promise me you’ll come back to me.” 

“Don’t cry,” Suga whispers and moves his hands up to cup his boyfriend’s face. His thumbs brush across Daichi’s slowly reddening cheeks. 

“I-I’ll try,” he bravely chokes out. 

And then bursts out laughing in Suga’s face. 

Suga collapses against him not seconds later, leaning on him heavily for support, and gasps out, “H-Hey, _you’re_  the one who broke it!” 

“You went through _the fight scene_  with th-the _skirt_!” Daichi’s laugh booms around the set. Supporting Suga’s weight against his chest, he reaches down and tugs on the light blue maxi skirt, flipping it up with the slit in the side. 

“He performed very well,” Wakatoshi calls from off set. 

Suga actually slides to the floor, skirt hiking up around his knees, actual tear tracks from laughter running through the makeup on his face. 

The camera pans over to Chikara, who had to direct the entire scene with the unfortunate return of maiden Suga. 

 

–-

 

Tadashi has the highest count for trips on-set of anyone, by a wide enough margin to be noticeable. They’ll have a running number in the corner for the gag reel, Chikara decides. Might as well get _some_  use out of it. 

 

–-

 

Daichi slips off his fogged-up glasses and eyes the hot water appreciatively. Both for the tub itself, and the perfectly nude vision already sprawled out within it. Suga sighs, head lolled back, one foot breaching the water to try to beckon Daichi in. It’s not very sexy, itself, but the atmosphere is electric, and he steps up to the edge of the tub, anyway. 

Someone else beats him in. 

“ _Oikawa_!” Suga shrieks, cackling, and Daichi feels back, sopping wet from the splashing. 

“Dibs!” Tooru shouts and blows a loud raspberry against Suga’s neck. Both of them are dripping and flailing, getting more water outside of the tub than they probably should. Chikara’s already shouting for someone to grab towels and mops. 

“You _ass_ , we had that scene!” Daichi scolds, biting his lip to stop his own grinning. 

“Fight me for his hand, Dai-chan!” Tooru declares. Suga laughs even louder in delight. 

 

–-

 

Tooru kicks at him, trying his best to hog the precious hot water, but Iwaizumi is built like a brick wall. He’s warmer than the water, at least, but they’re crowded and the water isn’t to Tooru’s liking, anyway. “It’s my turn!” 

“Dumbass, I was in here first. You don’t want to deal with a rotting pelt,” Iwaizumi growls back. He catches Tooru’s foot to keep him still, but he still squirms and wiggles. 

Somehow, they end up with Iwaizumi pressed nearly flush against him, sealskin caught between them like a last barrier to modesty. Nevermind the fact that he’s still wearing pants. Tooru isn’t, and Tooru is _very_  susceptible to the whole Tattooed Ridiculously Attractive Man thing that is now firmly in his personal space. 

“ _Dibs_!” 

“God _damnit_  Koushi!” 

They both  _oof_  as Suga decides that three grown men can fit in a single clawfoot bathtub. He flops onto Iwaizumi’s back, sloshing water out, even if hardly any of himself is in the water. He’s laughing into Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders, completely unrepentant. 

“I’m going to _ruin_  that birthday scene,” Tooru snaps, trying to get out from beneath both of them before he drowns or suffocates. 

“I’m going to ruin _both of you_ ,” Iwaizumi corrects. 

“You didn’t even do it right!” Tooru adds. 

 

–-

 

As a counterpoint to the trip counter for Tadashi, there is a counter for how many times Kei walks into things. Half of them are sheer distraction, half of them are bad takes on intangibility. All of them are hilarious. 

(The best one, by far, is when he manages to walk straight into Wakatoshi, _who doesn’t even move from the impact_.) 

 

–-

 

“ _Ushijima_!” Suga bellows, bursting onto the scene with the vorpal sword sizzling in his hand. It’s already eaten through the shirt he’d wrapped his fist in, but adrenaline makes it easy to ignore. “I’m here to -” 

Wakatoshi turns around in the computer chair they’d hauled onto the set, trained fox on his lap. He strokes it and says in his deepest, most villainous voice, “I’ve been expecting you, Sugawara.” 

The vorpal sword _clangs_  to the ground and Suga falls against the doorframe, shaking with laughter. “Th-That’s no fair!” 

“You’re breaking character again.” 

“ _And you’re not?!_ ” 

“Satori assured me that this is how villains act, and I’ve seen enough of the Bond movies to be inclined to agree.” 

“ _Tendou_!” Chikara’s bark is loud enough to even cut across Suga’s laughter. 

 

–-

 

“Don’t laugh,” Kenjirou snaps, face beet red, head tilted uncomfortably. “Get that fucking camera out of here!” 

“Stop yanking,” Taichi says flatly, bent at an even steeper angle. 

“I want you to tell everyone how you got stuck together,” Ryuu says, mirth and smugness thick enough in his voice to be cut. 

“Fuck off!” 

“Come now,” Saeko coos, ducking beneath both of them with a grin. She’s still in costume, covered in dirt and blood and concrete dust, and taps their entwined antlers with her gun. “Isn’t this how deer fight for dominance?” 

Ryuunosuke cackles as Kenjirou goes impossibly redder. “Fuck _off_!” he repeats and yanks on their antlers. He ducks back toward Taichi with a pained whine, clutching at his mussed hair. 

“If we agree that you can use the footage, will you cut us free?” Taichi asks, equally pained. 

“Let me call Tendou, I’m _sure_  he’ll be more than happy to -” 

“ _No_!” they both interrupt, desperate. 

“Oho, what’s this?” Color drains _fast_  out of Kenjirou’s voice and the camera excitedly swivels around to find one Kuroo Tetsurou, smirk wide and sharp across his face. 

“I want to be done with this now,” Taichi says flatly, “you can put me back in gay bird jail.” 

 

–-

 

“ _Cinq chiens chassent shee_  - shit!” 

“ _Cinq chiens chassesssss_ shit.” 

“ _Cinq sien_  - you threw me off!” Eita smacks Satori, who still has his tongue stuck out like it deserves sympathy. 

“Move onto another one!” 

“ _Je suis ce que je suis et suis_ \- ugh!” 

“ _Je suis ce que je suis et si je suis ce je_  - fuck.” 

“What are you two doing now?” Wakatoshi asks, eyebrow raised a hair. 

“Tongue twisters,” the pair answer in unison. “To work on pronunciation.” 

With a hum, Wakatoshi takes Satori’s phone, looking it over. “ _Je suis ce que je suis et si je suis ce que je suis, qu’est-ce que je suis_? What’s difficult about this?” 

They both hit him with matching frustrated growls. “You’re not even supposed to speak it!” Eita complains. 

“I had to pick it up to understand what Tendou was calling me.” 

“That’s even worse!” 

“ _Cinq chiens chassent six chats_. How can five of them chase six cats? They could split up to avoid at least one.” 

“Just stop it, stop it!” Satori groans and steals his phone back. “Go be perfect somewhere else before Chikara decides you’re French, too!” 

“I think everyone will drop dead on set. No one can handle that,” Eita mutters. 

“Honestly, sometimes even the R’lyehian pronunciation gets me, y’know?” 

“I’m glad I don’t have scenes with him. I don’t know how you do it.” 

They leave Wakatoshi by himself to look perplexed. 

 

–-

 

“Don’t you ever do anything funny?” Koutarou, behind the camera, asks. 

“Nope,” Kenma replies. 

“What are you doing, anyway?” Tetsurou, somewhere beside Koutarou but not visible, asks. Kenma, slouched impossibly in the beanbag, turns up the volume on his laptop instead of answering. 

“Is that _Black Butler_?” Koutarou asks, gleeful. “Kenma, you can’t blame this one on Lev. Are you getting your high school weeaboo on?” 

“I don’t think you can use that term if we’re Japanese,” Kenma deadpans. 

“You’re watching old anime on set. In costume.” 

“Someone will find me if they need me.” 

“Do something funny,” Koutarou demands. 

Kenma, finally glancing up at them but only with annoyance, flatly informs them, “I have a massive demon kink and I have to jack off to this so I don’t jump Kuro on camera.” 

Koutarou howls with laughter, camera shaking, and he whirls around on Tetsurou, who is bright red and already fighting him for control of it. “Kenma, that’s - Koutarou, _it’s not funny_!” 

“Y-Your _face_!” 

“There’s no such thing as a demon kink!” 

“Then why are you blushing, dude?!” 

“He can’t just _say_  things like that!” 

“Look at this blushing, virgin nerd. I want every viewer at home to realize that _this_  is what everyone thinks is the sex god of the set -” 

“Both of you have cried during sex and for at least one of you, I have footage to prove it,” Kenma interrupts. “Now _leave_  already.” 

The camera jostles briefly before clicking off. 

 

–-

 

There are two cases of video games getting a little _too_  real during scenes, and as a result, Chikara bans _Mario Party_  from anywhere near Tadashi or Kenma for the rest of shooting. 

Honestly, Rainbow Road is hardly an improvement. 

 

–-

 

It’s only their second try at filming the scene when Tooru plops down in their nest of blankets and forgoes ‘dibs’ in favor of, “Hey, boys, room for one more?” 

“Happy birthday to me,” Daichi replies blankly. Suga is already giggling, amused and not quite in the groove with the scene enough to be annoyed at the interruption. “Suga, you shouldn’t have.” 

“Wait wait, me too!” Yui skids onto the scene and throws herself onto their laps, shedding feathers and getting white makeup over them. Suga breaks into loud, carrying laughter and Yui leans up to give Daichi a loud, sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“Angel pile on Dai-chan!” Tooru calls and next thing he knows, he has all three of them on top of him. Warning would’ve been nice. Daichi wheezes weakly, and he’s not sure if it was laughter or not. 

Kiyoko primly sits on top of the pile before Chikara manages to yell, “ _Cut_!” 


	60. ensemble: the race one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga, implied iwaoi & kyouhaba & kuroken & bokuaka  
> rating: g  
> summary: It's frightening what Suga can talk people into in the name of research.

“Please? For science?” Suga pleads, batting his doe eyes, and even Akaashi’s displeased grimace cannot bear the weight of Suga’s charms. 

They really don’t understand how he got everyone _else_ , though. Especially Kenma, and the inugami. Kenma makes no secret of avoiding gatherings, and the human hunter accompanying the inugami looks impossibly more sour about the entire affair. Akaashi hopes Suga has a back-up plan in case this breaks into a fight. 

They stiffen when, just as Suga begins to outline the rules, Tooru and that skinwalker of his jog up, calling, “Sorry we’re late!” 

Akaashi steps between Bokuto and Iwaizumi, although it’s _probably_  not necessary; their protective instincts are difficult to ignore at rare times. They feel a little better when Kenma, far more subtly, also shifts to place himself between them. Iwaizumi staunchly avoids looking in their direction, for his part. 

“Alright, so because I’m so very blessed to have so many dear friends,” Suga begins, earning a snort from the inugami, “and I have an insatiable curiosity, I’d like to see what some of the basic physical capabilities are for a lot of you. For a reference point, we have my lovely human assistant -” 

“Suga, _please_ ,” Daichi mutters, face red. 

“- Daichi, _I_  can’t be the lovely human assistant. Anyway, he’ll be doing this with you all!” 

“Are you competing for the angel team?” Kuroo asks, and there are a couple of confused murmurs, plus a particularly nasty Look sent to him from Tooru. 

“No, and you’re an asshole,” Suga replies without missing a beat. “Any other questions?” 

“What form do we have to compete in?” Iwaizumi asks, hand raised. 

“For those of you with multiple forms, I’d like to run you through the tests multiple times, if that’s alright. Iwaizumi, I really only want to from you -” 

He holds up the teal, scaled pelt as he rolls his eyes. Suga clasps his hands together in delight. 

He sits, cross-legged, with his phone’s timer in one hand and a pencil in the other. They’re in a parking lot he’s assured everyone has already been warded and they won’t be interrupted, and Akaashi wonders if maybe they’re this isolated in case of a fight breaking out. 

“No jumping,” Suga reminds them. “Yahaba, you and Iwaizumi will go first, human forms, if you’d please?” 

The inugami sends a wink to the blond hunter seated on the sidelines with the other humans, and he steps up first. Kenma doesn’t even look up to watch, immersed in his game, but Tooru cheers obnoxiously loudly, cheerleader enough for everyone else. 

Yahaba runs the trial in what can really only be described as a brisk jog, tails waving behind him, hardly out of breath when he pulls up at the end. Suga doesn’t comment on his lack of effort, although the hunter barks out, “Lazy, you didn’t even _try_!” 

“What am I supposed to do with these human stick legs?” Yahaba shoots back. 

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, finishes the race in a dead sprint that Akaashi thinks they may have blinked and missed. Tooru blows kisses from the sidelines, Kenma keeps playing his game, and Suga hums and idly remarks, “Well, you beat the human world record by a good four seconds… You two will be after everyone else, but other forms. Daichi’s still last.” 

“You’re making me follow a dog monster and a _dragon_  in a race?” 

“Yes, dear. Kuroo, you’re up.” 

Kenma finally glances up, head tilted just far enough to allow his loose hair to hide him, but Akaashi registers the mild interest. They smile, behind their claws, and point it out to Bokuto. 

Kuroo comes _far_  behind Iwaizumi, to his vocal dismay (as if anyone expected otherwise). He plops down behind Kenma, chin hooked over his shoulder, and demands, “Comfort me, I lost.” 

“You’re probably fast compared to me.” 

“Some comfort. You’re a sedentary creature.” 

Kenma stops allowing him close after that. “Why aren’t Tadashi and Tsukishima here?” he asks Suga, pointedly ignoring the demon. 

“I wasn’t exactly sure _what_  Tsukishima would be. I also didn’t invite Yaku because as far as I know, he only has the small cat form.” 

“Should’ve invited the kitsune,” Tooru suggests. 

“Futakuchi doesn’t need to be here. I’m happy enough to get Akaashi and Bokuto.” 

“And you don’t want to compete as an angel because…” Kuroo asks, and Suga reaches over to _bap_  him on the head with his clipboard. 

When it’s Akaashi’s turn to step up, they politely call, “We can _fly_ , right?” Suga gives them a thumbs up, and they can’t deny their relief. It’s clear they’re going to win - they’re _tengu_ , but they’re also flying, so there’s no contest here - but they need to make sure Bokuto doesn’t end up sulking, so they should probably ensure that he wins between the two of them. 

They pull themselves back a little too much; even Suga notices, eyebrow arched. “Did you trip over the air or something?” Kuroo asks, and Akaashi hides their red face as they sit down on Suga’s other side. 

Bokuto, naturally, beats them by a clean two seconds. “Did I win?” 

“Of course you did.” 

“We still have three more,” Suga reminds the tengu, and gestures Yahaba up again, this time in a monstrous canine form the size of a bear. Akaashi doesn’t know how Sugawara befriended an inugami, or how he got one to play his games, but they’re not sure if they should be cautious or not. And unsure whether to be cautious of said inugami or _Suga_ , for that matter. 

Yahaba crosses the distance in four bounds, skidding to a stop at the end with both tails wagging. The hunter doesn’t berate him this time, but neither does he compliment him, so he sits down and petulantly demands, “I did _fine_  this time, thank you! Oikawa, compliment me, please.” 

“You’re only behind the tengu, that’s really good!” 

“I’m a higher spirit,” Yahaba says, throwing his head back. “That’s to be expected.” 

At the start line, Daichi looks _very_  nervous to be standing beside a dragon. Suga snaps a quick picture before calling, “Ready!” 

Alright, so Iwaizumi may be a dragon now. Akaashi, objectively, has known this fact. Akaashi _has_  seen a dragon in person before, once, and they hadn’t thought it particularly fast. 

Iwaizumi beats Bokuto’s time by a full second. 

And then, the dragon cocks his head down at the tengu, and _smirks_. 

Akaashi is going to flay him _again_.

(Daichi, human representative, beats out both Yahaba’s human time as well as Kuroo’s. He’s the only one to receive kisses for his race.)


	61. oisuga: the coming together one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: oisuga, mentioned oimakki and kiyoyui  
> rating: t for more tsads  
> summary: It began as another one of Sugawara Koushi's misplaced crushes.

“Yui,” Suga says to the ceiling, clearly not caring that it’s nearing four in the morning and they’re supposed to be _sleeping_ , “what if I end up single and alone. I don’t even have a cat to excuse it.” 

“Oh my god,” she groans into the pillow. 

“You’ve been with Kiyoko now for forever, and even Noya and Asahi are together now, and I thought they’d dance around that until judgment day. I’m attractive, aren’t I? Maybe not hot and certainly not like Kiyoko but -” 

“Koushi, you’re gorgeous, now go to sleep.” 

“If we hit twenty-five and I still don’t have anyone, you have to date me out of pity.” 

“ _Koushi_.” 

“You think I’m joking, but I’m not.” 

“I’m going to spell your ass asleep in two seconds.” 

“What if I’m thirty and alone? I can’t handle being alone. I take it back, I want a promise that you’ll marry me for the tax benefits if neither of us are married at thirty.” 

Growling the entire time, Yui crawls out of bed and stands on the edge of the frame in order to peer over the top bunk. Suga is still staring up at the ceiling, one arm thrown dramatically over the edge. “Why the hell does this have to happen _right now_.” 

“I think I like someone.” 

Much of Yui’s aggravation evaporates, but not enough to stop her from reaching over and giving him a sharp rap on the head for keeping her awake. “If you’re going to talk about Saeko’s rack again, I’m going to find a way to banish a living human, I swear to god.” 

“No. It’s - I don’t even know his name.” 

“…His?” 

“His,” Suga miserably confirms. 

“So you… like dudes?” 

“I guess. I’ll still marry you, don’t worry.” 

She smacks him again. “Gay crises can come in morning hours! Go the fuck to sleep, Koushi.” 

 

–-

 

“Koushi, you are beautiful and pure and talented and I love you with all my heart,” Yui says, his hands clasped in hers as they press up against the hallway wall, “but he is _so out of your league_. I can’t actually describe how out of your league he is. And your league is the top league.” 

“I know,” Suga whimpers. 

“That is _Oikawa Tooru_ ,” Yui informs him, and his hands tighten on hers at the sound of the name. “He’s unaffiliated, but helps the coven out from time to time. He’s a psychic, but no magic.” 

“Like -?” 

“No, clairvoyant.” 

“So you’re saying he can _read all my gay thoughts about him_.” 

“Koushi, you have to stay away from him at all times. To protect yourself and your horrible gay thoughts,” Yui solemnly tells him, and Suga just as solemnly nods. 

It takes two days for Suga to run into Tooru proper by complete accident. 

 

–-

 

Suga and Tooru run in a few of the same circles - helping various covens out, although Suga stays close to Foxglove out of loyalty for Yui and Kiyoko - and eventually manage to have something like a mildly flirty acquaintanceship. Half the coven is enamored with Tooru, and he freely flirts with everyone, so Suga takes it as a mild victory and doesn’t read much more into it. He doesn’t need to get his hopes up. Crushing on one Tanaka Saeko for most of his high school career has taught him a thing or two about the joys of safe, unrequited pining. 

University keeps them busy, pleasantly so, and but also stretches funds rather tight. Suga and Yui take up freelancing under the table, but it isn’t long before they find out that Tooru likes to hire out for jobs of his own, too, and Yui, with her usual amount of tact, shoves Suga headfirst at Tooru every opportunity she gets. 

He gets to do a _lot_  of exorcisms. 

He’s not sure how Tooru has the money, but he finds out little details here and there. He’s firmly nonmagical, has been psychic since he was born, and Suga never hears of any family. Or even friends, for that matter. 

He has plenty of people he works with, sure. He meets Saeko through him and Yui, and Suga meets a pair of frighteningly young hunters (one of whom he’s not sure is human). He steps, however slightly, out of the realm of banishments and exorcisms and into _hunting_. 

(Kiyoko doesn’t approve, but Kiyoko doesn’t approve of a lot of things.)

 

–-

 

“Are you doing anything after this?” Tooru asks, so out of the blue that Suga can only gape at him for several seconds too long. “Earth to Sugawara. You hungry?” 

“Uh.” Of course his stomach growls right then. “Yeah, apparently. Why?” 

“Because I got blown off by a snobby coyote and I have reservations,” he laments, and waves Suga’s payment in the air between them. “I can just put this toward dinner, then.” 

“Isn’t that like I’m the one treating you, then?” 

“You’re welcome,” Tooru replies with a wink. 

Suga has been around Tooru long enough that many of his superficial charms have worn off, but direct attention like this still warms his cheeks. _Unfair_. “You better be some damn good company.” 

“I’m amazing company! That’s why you keep coming back to ask for jobs, right?” Tooru asks brightly, and Suga is now certain he’s scarlet. 

 _Fuck this stupid mindreader_ , he thinks, purposefully lowering his mental blocks. 

Tooru laughs, high and tinkling and fake, and winks at him again. “You wish, Sugawara.” 

 

–-

 

Suga is left naked, shivering, and terrified. He’s exhausted, as tired as he’s ever felt in his life, and truth be told, he’s _been_  exhausted the entire time. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel anything remotely _alive_  again. Energy is a foreign concept to him now, along with proper sleep, human warmth, and, apparently, death itself. 

“He’s still human,” the witch announces. Her magic still burns along his spine. “But we can’t tell much else.” 

“Of course he is,” Kiyoko angrily replies. Her voice is thick, emotional. She’s sounded like that pretty much constantly ever since he called her from the hospital morgue. “Let us go home.” 

“We had to make sure he didn’t do anything else.” 

“He’s not a monster! He’s just -” 

“Deathless? A _necromancer_? Who knows what sort of thing could have come back in his corpse.” 

Kiyoko puts her own jacket over his shoulders, and while he can feel the warmth leftover from her, none of it seeps into him as he wishes. They’re allowed out of the examination room, and he’s given his own clothes back, although Kiyoko places her jacket once again over him, like she’s trying to warm him. Neither of them comment on the fact that he might never warm back up. 

He doesn’t complain about the residual ache or the disgusting feel of foreign magic left lingering on him. Suga hasn’t complained about _anything_  since leaving that awful, nightmarish place. 

He definitely hasn’t complained about the skeletal figure that’s been shuffling along behind him since he came back. 

He sleeps over at Kiyoko’s, terrified to return home himself. To be _alone_  there himself. He doesn’t know what the apartment looked like, after the accident, and he’s scared to find out. He’s even more scared of the prospect of how much it _hasn’t_  changed. 

Sunshine leaps at him as soon as he’s through the bedroom door, and Suga hides his tears against the long, coal black fur. 

Suga sleeps for nineteen hours, an improvement over the twenty-one the day before. (And the several days before that.) Kiyoko is gone, a note taped to the bedroom door about having to speak to Madoka again, and Suga slinks around her home feeling like more of a stranger than ever. 

They haven’t discussed Yui. They haven’t discussed _anything_. Kiyoko had accepted him back with tears and gratitude and no judgment. It’s better than he deserves. 

The doorbell rings, and Suga jumps and nearly drops the mug of tea he’d been carrying without drinking. Sunshine winds through his feet as he cautiously heads through the shop toward the door, where knocking has taken over. It’s supposed to be closed. But he knows news within magical circles travels fast, and he’s not sure how much Madoka is willing to protect him. 

 _Torches and pitchforks already_? he thinks, almost smiling, and listens as the knocking dies down. 

“No torches _or_  pitchforks!” Tooru calls through the door. “Suga, that’s really - _really_  you, right?” 

He opens the door, bemused and shaken to find Tooru standing before him, out of breath, disheveled, and honestly the _ugliest_  crier Suga’s ever seen in his life. 

Tooru lets out a wild laugh and crushes him against his chest, and Suga’s too stunned to react one way or another. “You c-can’t call me an ugly crier when I’ve never had to practice my ‘Resurrected Friend’ face before!” Tooru says against his hair. Suga feels smothered by his presence. He’s so _warm_ , alive, shaking around him. 

The response is the same as Kiyoko’s, but he’s as dramatic about it as always. 

“I got blown off by a snobby coyote for my lunch plans,” Tooru thickly tells him, and Suga is startled to find that he’s rubbing circles against his back like Suga’s the one bawling his eyes out. 

Suga is also startled to find that A: he _is_  crying, and B: he’s not sure how well he can actually _feel_  Tooru’s touch. 

“My treat this time,” Tooru adds. 

“W-Well, I wouldn’t want you to be alone for lunch,” Suga replies. 

 

–-

 

Suga doesn’t find much humor in the fact that, at twenty-five, he _does_  have someone, and a cat to boot, and no Yui. 

“Who am I gonna marry at thirty for tax benefits?” Suga drowsily asks. No more four am chats for him, that’s for sure. Eleven at night sometimes knocks him out just as easily. 

“You’re legally dead,” Tooru groans against his shoulder. “You don’t _need_  tax benefits.” 

Suga doesn’t like that twist of fate, either. 


	62. oikawa: the inugami one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied oimakki, matsuhanaoi, & kyouhaba  
> rating: t for you guessed it tsads  
> summary: Tooru doesn't like the thought of leaving them alone to worse monsters.

It’s by sheer luck that Tooru meets them the first time. 

He’s seen the man around, at a couple of the smaller covens, offering to do messy jobs. Tooru usually steers clear of him, just as he steers clear of the Eyebright Coven; he doesn’t like power-hungry hunters, or witches, or _anyone_. 

He likes the man even less when he sees the young dog spirit next to him, sporting a split lip and a bruise along his jaw. 

“Holy shit,” Takahiro breathes next to him, like he’s afraid to be overheard. Despite being totally human right now, Tooru can _see_  his hackles raise. “That guy has a fucking inugami.” 

“What are those?” 

“Google it on an empty stomach,” Takahiro growls. He’s uncharacteristically tense, angry enough that some of his mental shielding slips, and Tooru gets enough of an opinion about inugami to not want to google it. 

Curiously enough, Hiro’s ire is directed at the man, not the spirit. 

“Hiro, Tooru,” Takahiro’s mother calls, “ _ven aquí_. Get away from them.” 

She certainly makes no secret of her displeasure either, and grabs either boy by the shoulder, despite the fact that they both tower over her and are certainly not old enough to get hauled around like this. The man with the inugami glares right back at her, and she bares her teeth. 

The young inugami, slowly, cocks his head to the side. One of his ears may perk a bit in interest. 

“Hiro, you have to promise me to stay away from that man,” she tells him as soon as they’re out of earshot. (Probably not from the spirit.) “Tooru, you too. I’ll allow your shenanigans but don’t go anywhere _near_  anyone who would do that.” 

“What did he want here?” Takahiro asks. 

“Same as us, he’s looking for jobs. Steer clear of him. Humans can be some of the worst monsters of all.” 

As they leave the coven house, Tooru thinks nothing of the small boy waiting outside, at least not until the inugami ducks around the corner and goes to sit by him. The two nagual beside him prickle and glare again, although not as badly, but Tooru is left with a mind full of glimpses of raw steaks and blood on hands and too much shouting. 

The inugami looks thin. The boy is even more bruised than he is. 

 _Worst monsters of all for sure_ , he privately agrees. 

 

–-

 

“I _can’t believe_  you’ve bribed me into this fuckery,” Issei says, radiating tension, shoulders hunched to nearly his ears. Despite how big he is, he’s slouched down as much as possible, a far smaller picture than either Tooru or Takahiro. 

“Think of all the sweets,” Hiro purrs. 

“Think of the blowjobs,” Tooru adds. 

“You’re both disgusting. I want these things at the same time,” Issei sourly demands. 

It’d taken nothing short of a miracle to get Matsukawa Issei to step foot on known magical soil, and even with his terrible disguise (hoodie, snapback, hideous big sunglasses borrowed from Hiro), he’s clearly unhappy to be here. Tooru will keep his secret for as long as he lives, but he needs someone else here, someone who isn’t known to any witches _or_  hunters. 

“Remember your lines?” Hiro asks. 

“Please. I can bullshit my way out of _anything_.” 

“Just don’t get an angry inugami sent on you.” 

“I want a better payment,” Issei says bitterly before he’s shoved onto the scene. He smooths out his shoulders, gives his head a cocky tilt, and immediately strolls up to the patio like he owns the place. 

They’re barely old enough to drink. Hopefully their size counts for something, for once. 

Issei signals for a drink from a waitress as he shamelessly plops down at a table across from the man. Tooru and Hiro wait until he’s engaged in conversation before circling around to sneak in the back door to the bar. 

An exasperated bouncer demands to see their IDs, and only gets more suspicious at their behavior when he sees they’re both legal. But oh well, what can they do? 

“How close do you have to be?” Hiro hisses at him as they try to approach the door to the patio without being scene. 

“It’s already loud in here,” Tooru mumbles, wincing at the din within his head, “so pretty close.” 

“This wouldn’t be such an issue if you didn’t make such a show of yourself everywhere you went.” 

“ _¡Cállate!_ “ Tooru shushes. 

They press up against the wall, chairs totally separated from their supposed table, and Tooru closes his eyes in concentration. He can feel Issei’s presence, still tense and nervous at being here, and he can pick out bits and pieces of what they’re talking about. But nothing from the man yet. 

Then - “So, Kyoutani, I heard you’re a man of some skill,” Issei remarks, having seen them through the window, starting in on his real goal. 

The name is like a switch. 

Kyoutani has decent mental barriers, but Tooru has spent the past several years practicing against Issei and Takahiro and various witches, and it’s not hard to press into the cracks. It’s all disjointed, largely unrelated to the conversation at hand, which is the frustrating part; he needs to know _where_  and _why_  and _how_. 

Issei steers the direction toward home with a casual mention of a backyard, and _finally_  Tooru gets a glimpse of a dog buried outside. Residential neighborhood, _home_ , family and job and he doesn’t know how to cook for a spirit. Hiro gestures through the window to keep the conversation going. 

Tooru gleans bits and pieces he doesn’t know what to do with: his son’s homework, trying to keep the inugami down and behaved, owing someone money. It doesn’t excuse any suspicions he’d had of abuse, but at least he doesn’t have to see it. 

Hiro startles beside him and shoves a napkin at his face. Tooru blearily blinks his eyes open, and is unsurprised to feel blood trickling down his mouth and chin. 

“We might have to call it a night,” Hiro whispers. 

“We can’t just call the cops on him.” 

“He’s living with a rage spirit. The witches will find something to pin on him eventually, if that itself doesn’t bite him in the ass.” 

 _The kid_ , Tooru dizzily thinks, and Hiro’s face softens like he’s suddenly the mind reader. Hiro stands them up, and they stagger over to the bar, ordering water despite the displeased look of the bartender as Tooru bleeds onto the countertop. 

He doesn’t even know why he’s so attached to this idea. He doesn’t think of himself as _that_  much of a white knight. He knows there are abused kids all over the city, homeless or sick or maybe even worse off. 

Maybe it was the fact that the spirit seemed young, too. Maybe it was the way they sulked together outside. Maybe it was the fact that what he’d seen of the homework had actually been halfway decent. 

Maybe Kiyoko is rubbing off on him, collecting strays. 

Issei walks inside with a whistle and his hands jammed into his hoodie pocket. He doesn’t ask how it went, but slides onto the stool next to them and orders a beer. 

“Mister Hemorrhage here ruined things for us. I don’t think this is going to work,” Hiro says flatly. 

“How else would it work? He doesn’t tell the covens shit, and I’m not in good enough with any of them to get that information, anyway.” 

“Well, then, I _definitely_  want a pay increase,” Issei drawls, and pulls the man’s wallet out of his hoodie pocket. “Can we leave now?” 

 

–-

 

Tooru goes alone to the Kyoutani household, probably because he’s stupid or something. 

It’s the son who answers the door. Tooru’s still bent on _kid_ , but he’s well into his teenage years, stocky and looking at least as thuggish as his father. “Yeah?” the kid bites out. Tooru can see a sloppily bandaged cut around one of his biceps, and he holds himself with the delicate air of someone in minor pain they’re ashamed of. 

He hadn’t really thought out how this would go. _Hello, so I totally think you’re stuck in a Bad Family Situation and did you know there are numbers you can call? Or I know my friend’s dog mom would totally love to adopt you_. Hanamaki Nuria is nothing if not fierce in protecting anyone she deems needing it. The kid would benefit from a better doggy presence in his life. 

“Uh,” is all Tooru manages to croak out. 

“Fuck off, then,” he replies and shuts the door in Tooru’s face. 

Tooru stands there, hating how poorly that had gone, and wonders how badly his friends are going to kick his ass for fucking up his own pet project. Charity case. He _still_  doesn’t know what this was supposed to be, other than misguided and poorly thought out. 

“That’s rude,” he hears from inside, moments before the door is reopened. 

Tooru finds himself face-to-face with the inugami. He’s shirtless, and far more gaunt than Tooru suspected, and there are claw marks down the side of his ribs, not bandaged and barely scabbed over. 

“Ah,” the inugami says, dog ears pricked up. 

Next thing he knows, Tooru is flat on his back with a _monster_  of a dog spirit crouched over him. His fur shimmers with heat and magic, and his teeth are a hair’s breadth from Tooru’s throat, which has never seemed softer or more exposed. 

“Mind telling me what a coven bitch is doing here?” the inugami growls. Tooru thinks he feels saliva drip down onto his skin, and he represses a shudder. 

“I-I wanted to help,” he squeaks out. 

“Get off him,” the kid says with a halfhearted tug at the shaggy fur on the inugami’s shoulder. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I’m contracted to protect this bloodline and its home,” the inugami says like it _really_  doesn’t want to. “And we’re not supposed to have interlopers.” 

“I’m not interloping!” 

“Explain to me how exactly you don’t think you’re shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong?” 

“I said get off of him,” the son demands, and this time, the inugami pulls his jaws away from Tooru’s neck. Tooru scrambles back, eyes wide but no longer as afraid as he had been. “Just leave,” he tells the psychic, eyes hard and scowl firm. “We don’t need your help, and we don’t want your jobs. I have homework tonight.” 

He yanks the inugami inside by a tail and slams the door shut once more. 

 

–-

 

A year and a half later is the first time he actually speaks to either of them again. He sees them from time to time, especially now that the son - Kentarou - is sent out on bloody jobs with the inugami - Yahaba. Tooru is still collecting information. 

Now, however, it’s for their own safety. He’s chalked Kentarou into following in his father’s footsteps, not a care for morals or help or the bruises he shows up with. You can’t help someone who won’t accept it, probably, so Tooru has to let it lie. 

So all the time passes, and Tooru lets his curiosity die, and he almost doesn’t open the door one late night to find the pair of them standing on his doorstep, bloody and injured and standing too close to be casual. 

“Still want to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” Yahaba asks flatly. 

“Uh,” Tooru intelligently replies. They’ve both worked on their mental walls, and higher spirits were always a little tricky to read, anyway. 

“Give us a job,” Kentarou harshly demands. “I don’t care what it is so long as the pay is good.” He sways on his feet, and the only part of him that doesn’t look ready to collapse is the hand tight on his bleeding forearm. It looks like a bite mark. 

Tooru reaches out to grab him, to tug him inside, and Yahaba grabs his wrist with claws out and teeth bared before he can. 

“Let go,” Kentarou hisses. 

“Don’t mistake this,” Yahaba advises Tooru, “we just want your money.” 

“Let me help. For god’s sake at least let me patch that up before you bleed out on my doorstep.” 

“I can help him,” Yahaba says and comes completely in between them now. He’s not as tall as Tooru, but he stands up to his full height, and he’s not exactly _not_  scary. It’s too late for this shit. “You want to help? Give us money.” 

Tooru reaches into the jacket hanging by the door, pulls out his wallet, and shoves whatever bills are in there at them. 

Kentarou’s eyes go wide, nearly comically so. “I-I meant for a job,” he forces out, awkward and indignant. Yahaba doesn’t bat an eye at the money. “I got some magic, so I can banish shit, or we can kill stuff. Or clean up things.” 

“We’re very talented,” Yahaba dryly adds. 

“Get some sleep, lick your wounds, and come back to me in the morning,” Tooru orders before shutting the door in their faces. (It felt good.)

What feels even better is that they _do_  come back to him the next morning. 


	63. bokuaka: the dragon killing one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied lite bokuaka  
> rating: t  
> summary: Once upon a time, a dragon broke into the tengu realm.

The world around them shakes hard enough to shake Keiji from their slumber. They toss and turn in bed, struggling with the heavy blankets for a moment too long; a growing din outside filters in through the cracked windows and slowly penetrates the drowsy haze in their mind. 

They step outside, squinting into the dark artificial sky, still trailing a quilt behind them. The house had been silent, empty, so Keiji has no one to immediately ask about the chaos outside. 

There is fire in the sky in the direction of the business district, illuminating the massive, winged form of a _dragon_. 

Half-dressed and unarmed, Keiji leaves the blanket, leaves the front door wide open, and bolts into the dark night toward the beast. 

 

–-

 

“What do you mean _evacuation_?!” Koutarou demands, then swears as he ducks under another blast of magical fire. 

“What other choices do we have?” Kyou shouts back, eyes narrowed in anger. She always gets angry to hide her fear, and for once, Koutarou doesn’t blame her. “Who even knows if the other clans have heard about this yet, and it’s the middle of the night. No one’s prepared for a fight.” 

“ _We_  are!” That’s the whole point of the guards, isn’t it?! Okay, maybe no one was expecting a _fucking dragon_  to drop into their realm with no warning, but it’s not as if the tengu hadn’t been fighting tooth and nail for every inch they took for their home. 

“Koutarou, you are forty-three,” Kyou replies with a roll of her eyes he _certainly_  doesn’t deserve. “You shouldn’t even be on duty tonight. I’m putting you in charge of it.” 

“Like hell!” he barks back. They duck up over the roof they’ve taken cover behind, and the dragon spots them immediately, bathing the area in fire. They end up scrambling in opposite directions, and as Koutarou hides behind a poor, half-charred tree, one of the few adult ones they had, he catches Kyou’s frantic gesturing from across the dragon-made clearing. It _had_  been a couple of eateries. 

The dragon jumps against the building they’d been hiding behind, and it cracks, slowly toppling over with the beast on top of it. Even if they’ve managed to get other tengu immediately away from the area, it’s doing more damage than they have any hope of fixing within the decade. 

Reinforcements dart onto the scene, magic shields held over their heads as the dragon halfheartedly swipes at them, feathers charred and fluffed in fright. “You are relieved,” the old snowy owl tengu tells him, and Koutarou opens his mouth to protest before he’s cuffed preemptively for it. “You’re to guard the southern realm door and make sure the evacuation goes smoothly.”

“I can help here!” he pleads. “Ask Akaashi, she -” 

“Akaashi Kyou is your direct superior and has ordered you to help with evacuating.” 

Sulking, Koutarou escapes the scene just as the dragon brings down another building that is probably as old as the realm itself. 

 

–-

 

“Let _go_  of me,” Keiji hisses, kicking at the old woman trying to haul them through the crowded market. “My sister was on guard duty tonight, I have to -” 

“Keiji!” Their father’s bark cuts across the crowd and they draw up, cowed immediately. “Kyou will be fine, what are _you_  doing disobeying orders?” 

“I didn’t know what was going on,” they mumble. The mass of panicking tengu part around them, instinctively avoiding the tall, proud man in full uniform. “I knew she was out tonight, and that’s a - a _dragon_. Let me go back and get my uniform.” 

“We have this under control,” he says, a rather blatant lie as they can _hear_  the dragon roaring and crashing around half a city away. 

“This way!” one of the other guards shouts, gesturing for people to keep moving, and Keiji’s father immediately hones in on him. Keiji gulps down a fear response when they see that it’s _Bokuto_. 

“Where’s Kyou?” Keiji asks before their father can ask anything else. 

“She’s still with the dragon,” he replies. guiltily, glancing up at the Akaashi patriarch like he’s expecting punishment. 

“As she should be. Bokuto, please keep an eye on Keiji, and make sure people keep getting out safely. Do _not_  let my child get into the fighting.” 

Keiji wants to point out that Kyou is as much an Akaashi child as they are, but what comes out is a soft, “I’m not a child,” as their father flaps off. 

“I’m not a child, either,” Bokuto agrees with a scowl. “But, y’know, I got a job to do. I _guess_.” 

Seeing one of the guards actively sulking while ordering people around is a strange thing, but made a little more palatable by the fact that it’s Bokuto. He’s always like this. Though Keiji has never spent much time with him, they’re aware enough of his habits and presence to take small comfort in it. In other circumstances, they’d be quite happy to spend this time together. 

Right now, however, they keep just edging away, just to have Bokuto snag them by a wing or their skirt before they get far. 

“You don’t take orders well, do you?” he asks, exasperated, after the first three tries. 

“That’s my family.” 

“And you barely have your flight feathers.” 

Keiji’s face burns, and before they can stop themselves, they snap, “At least I can control my own magic.” 

Bokuto’s eyes go wide, impossibly wide, gold glinting in the red haze of the night. Keiji shoves their claws against their mouth, mortified at saying such a rude thing to someone, to _Bokuto_  of all people. 

Bokuto recovers easily, doesn’t break into more shouting or venom like Keiji expects. “Yeah, well, magic doesn’t work on dragons, so they got no right to push me away!” 

The bulk of the people have gone through the door, and the area is starkly quiet compared to before. Fire roars in the distance, and Keiji thinks they can pick out occasional yelling, too, between roars from the dragon. It’s surreal to think that they just _left_  their realm. They have no idea how they’re going to get rid of the dragon. 

As Bokuto pointed out, they repel magic. Tengu are beings largely comprised of and reliant on magic. 

“Well, c’mon,” Bokuto says and grabs Keiji with an iron grip to quite literally drag them out the realm door. The goblin market is in a panic itself, shocked at all of the tengu, trying to press for information and answers. It looks as if one fight has already broken out, judging from the wide ring they’ve given a pair of horned owls and an unlucky fae. 

“Koutarou, there you are!” 

Keiji is only released when Bokuto’s mother lands beside them, covered in soot and bleeding from a scrape on her shoulder. Bokuto throws his wings around her with a squawk of joy, and she allows it only for one, indulgent moment, before holding him back out at arm’s length. 

“I’m escorting two healers in, so I’m putting you in charge of guarding this door.” She glances at Keiji, and then amends, “Both of you. Koutarou is acting superior, do you understand?” 

Keiji nods, feeling surprisingly meek. 

“Wait, how’s the fight going?” Koutarou asks before she can head back in. 

She laughs, humorlessly. “How do you think? Last I heard, the plan was to try to drop enough buildings on it to crush it. We’re out of many other ideas.” 

Keiji looks out at the worried, angry crowd. They doubt the goblin market has ever seen this many tengu in one place before, especially judging from the wary looks sent their way. They spot a particularly confused sparrow tengu near the edge of the crowd, caught in conversation with another owl. _At least we should get help soon_ , they think, but then also think of their family, already in the midst of a battle against a _dragon_. _Shit_. 

“How do you kill a dragon?” Bokuto muses aloud, and Keiji squints at him. He laughs at their expression, and point out, “You look a lot like your sister. Who is amazing an’ all, but I don’t get how they’re going to get rid of it without shoving half our city on it, y’know?” 

“Yes, I was worried about that,” Keiji mumbles. 

“So what can kill a dragon?” 

It’s like a bad game of janken. Dragon beats tengu, so what beats dragon? None of their weaponry is powerful enough without magic to really slow a dragon down, and if they got close enough to use their claws or talons, they’d be mauled. 

And Keiji’s too young to help. 

“I’ve got it!” Bokuto exclaims, and is off like a shot. 

So Keiji is left alone all over again. 

 

–-

 

“I need a favor,” Koutarou exclaims, panting, feathers in a disarray. Futakuchi lazily yawns in his face. 

“You and every other feathered friend here. Mind telling me what has everyone in a tizzy?” 

“Tengu secret -” 

“What a thing to tell someone you need a favor from.” 

“ _Urgh_ ,” Koutarou growls, and after a pull on his hair, he grinds out, “There’s a dragon and it’s going to ruin everything if we can’t figure out a way to kill it. I need that acid stuff I almost spilled on you last week.” 

“Hydra blood?” the kitsune supplies. 

“Yeah, that!” 

Koutarou takes a deep breath, entirely ready to auction off any number of eggs or magic, but Futakuchi cocks his head to the side and replies, “Okay.” 

Koutarou deflates. “O-Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Uh. How much will it cost…?” 

“A favor.” 

“What _kind_  of favor?” 

“To be determined,” Futakuchi replies, shrugging, tails waving. “Sounds like you have something pretty time sensitive, though. That’s my deal, take it or leave it.” 

“For an entire jar?” Koutarou asks suspiciously. 

“Mm, I suppose. An entire jar for a favor from a tengu.” 

Why does it feel like he’s selling his soul here? But he’d seen this stuff eat through wyvern hide, which is just like dragons, and it’s an _idea_ , at least. “Fine!” Koutarou bursts out, and Futakuchi happily rummages around beneath his table before coming up with a large, glass jar filled with swirling purple blood. 

It’s warm to the touch, worryingly so, but Koutarou just cradles it to his chest while rushing back through the market. Keiji is still standing by the door, claws clicking against each other as they fidget, and Koutarou holds his prize aloft in triumph. “What is _that_?” 

“Hydra blood!” 

“Where did you -?” 

“I gotta go give this to someone, so you stay here and guard the door! That’s an order!” Like a good, well-trained guard, the younger Akaashi snaps to attention and Koutarou slips through the door before they can protest. Power has its perks. 

Many of the fires have been put out, but there are still enough to light the haze in the realm with a bright, orange glow. It’s awkward holding the jar in his talons as he flies, and harder still to try to search things out through the smoke and rubble. He’s shocked at how much destruction there’s been already. 

It’s not hard to find the dragon, of course. It’s been herded against an upright pile of half-broken buildings, halfway into the residential district, one of its hind legs encased in an icy shackle from a nearby pond. One of its wings’ webbing is shredded and bloody, and Koutarou wonders if it’s grounded. Things are going better than he’d feared. 

“I thought we’d ordered everyone else out.” Koutarou jumps and tumbles through the air as another flaps up beside him. He recognizes Haruki’s older brother, but he can’t place his name right away, at least not until he flatly orders, “Get back out of here, Bokuto. Or at least help the wounded if you’re going to be underfoot.” 

“I got this!” he declares and raises a leg to show off the jar. 

Hiroto, that was his name, raises an eyebrow, and slowly breaks into a wide grin. “Where the hell did you get that? Okay, that changes things. C’mon, kid.”  

 

–-

 

Keiji not only must deal with a _lot_  of people yelling at them, most of them older than he is, but they also get the fun task of repeating, over and over, “The realm is closed for the moment.” 

They _wish_  it were closed, then they wouldn’t have to shove so many back. 

“It’s been hours!” 

“We don’t even know what’s going on!” 

“I don’t care if you are an Akaashi, I need to get back in there!” 

 _I hope his plan was worth this_ , Keiji thinks, grimacing as he lowers his pike yet again to an overzealous elder. “The realm is closed until the issue is dealt with.” 

 

–-

 

Baiting a dragon is probably the most terrifying thing Koutarou has done in his life. He whistles and chirps, flapping lower and lower - thank god it really _is_  grounded, although the way it jumps nearly made him drop the jar the first time - and waits until he’s close enough he won’t miss. 

He tilts the jar upside-down and dumps the hydra blood all over the dragon’s face. 

It sizzles immediately, an awful stench filling the air, and the dragon roars like he hasn’t heard all night. Koutarou flaps up and away from its flailing and screeching, before throwing the jar down at it for good measure. It shatters harmlessly against the side of its neck. 

The dragon breaks free of the ice encasing its leg, and stumbles blindly around, scraping its claws against its burned face. Koutarou can see flesh, red and angry, beneath melted gold scales. The dragon coughs, spitting out what looks like its own blood, and tries to spit out a mouthful of fire, too; it snarls in pain and coughs again, fireless. 

Two tengu hover closer to it, weapons raised, but the dragon doesn’t notice until one of them buries their spear into the comparatively softer flesh revealed by its melted muzzle. The dragon roars and swipes, missing its attacker but catching the other tengu. Hiroto swoops down from beside Koutarou and aims a sharpened point of wind magic directly between the dragon’s eyes, kicking down at it. 

The magic glances off of its remaining scales and instead pierces through its snout. With a muffled, pained roar, the dragon writhes and attacks blindly, jaws pinned shut, blinded, and grounded. 

Koutarou doesn’t feel bad, exactly, since he’s in the rubble of what had been his home. But he does feel a weight in his stomach when he circles down around the flailing dragon to help the injured tengu get away. The feeling worsens when he realizes it’s Kyou’s father. 

It’s immediately obvious that his wing is broken, and probably a leg, but he still shoots Koutarou a dirty look. The first things out of his mouth are, “You abandoned your post.” 

“Keiji’s in charge,” he replies, first name foreign on his tongue. “Where’s my mom? Where’s Kyou?” 

Something particularly raw breaks through the anger on the man’s face, but all he replies with is, “You are to escort me to a healer and then evacuate again. We’ll handle this.” 

“I’m the one who got the idea for the blood!” Koutarou huffs. He could totally just drop the man right now. He thinks about it. 

“We could have contained this! Now we have a blind, rampaging dragon who’s lashing out at anything -” 

“How’s that any different from before?! Can’t you just admit I _helped_?” 

“You put yourself in danger and left Keiji alone when you had explicit orders to the contrary!” 

Koutarou drops him. “Whoops,” he deadpans, and flaps into the air out of reach. “If you’re gonna yell at me for disobeying orders, then at least I’m gonna go help someone who _appreciates_  it.” 

Ignoring his shouting, Koutarou circles around the thrashing dragon until he spots another familiar face: Akaashi Kyou, still alive, although bloody and nursing a broken leg, same as her father. She’s remaining in the air to avoid this, high and circling like a vulture. 

And just like her father, she yells at him as soon as he’s close enough. “I ordered you back! What the hell are you doing here, Kou?!” She tries to swipe at him with her good leg, but Koutarou ducks out of the way with a whine. 

“Ak _aaaashi_! I was on guard duty tonight, this is _my_  fight!” 

“This isn’t some glory battle for you! You’re a rookie, and you _disobeyed me_.” 

“I helped! I’m the one who brought the hydra blood!” 

Beneath them, Hiroto tries to dig into the dragon’s flesh again, but it’s learned to better protect its face, and has hunkered down between broken buildings. Hiroto tries to taunt it from straight above, trying to lure its head out again, but by the time the dragon does, they realize too late that it’s not simply snapping at them again. 

Despite its wheeze of pain, the dragon opens its jaws and shoots a jet of fire straight up. Hiroto gets out of the way; the arguing pair above don’t have the same warning. 

Koutarou has burned himself with fire magic twice before, but it doesn’t compare to dragon fire, and honestly, he’s not sure he’s really aware of what’s happening until the fire is gone and he’s aware his feathers are burning and only _then_  does he realize that _everything fucking hurts_. 

Hiroto shouts something and he catches a glimpse of Kyou as they both tumble through the air, unable to stay aloft. Something cold and wet hits him, water magic; it’s only enough to put them both out, not enough to soothe. Koutarou catches himself in the air, just barely, body trembling with the effort. 

Hiroto catches Kyou and they nearly end up landing on the dragon before he halts them. 

Hiroto drags her out of the way before the dragon can twist around to eat either of them, and Koutarou sluggishly follows them - only to have the dragon rear up and catch _him_  instead. 

There’s a nasty _crunch_ , and everything feels hot again, and then blackness. 

 

–-

 

Keiji has always had exceptional finesse and control when it came to their magic. They didn’t have the raw talent of others, but they made use of what they had; they know exactly how much speed to use to be the first to make it to the healers. Keiji nearly trips over themselves as they stop, landing roughly, and first seeing their father propped up against a broken balcony with bandages covering his leg and wing. 

“Keiji,” he breathes, probably dizzy from exhaustion. Keiji is certainly unused to that level of affection from him. He extends his good arm, and Keiji awkwardly kneels beside him, only to get pulled against his chest. It’s been years since their father held them like this. “Oh, Keiji…” 

“What’s wrong.” 

“Kyou.” 

 

–-

 

Keiji is pressed through proper guard training faster than ever. Their sister left a big hole to fill, even if the career choice now fills them with dread and ash. 

To the surprise of many, Bokuto gives up his guard path altogether. Most of the clan had hailed him as a genius hero, a great warrior and a clever strategist, usually from the same people who had just the week before berated him for a mood swing or magical accident. 

So Keiji gets neither Kyou nor Bokuto to follow. 

Not that Bokuto entirely avoids him, which is the truly perplexing part. The first time Keiji sees him again after the dragon, Bokuto is red-faced and bowing deeply at the waist. “I-I greatly admired your sister, and… and I promised her that I’d be a good guard to help keep you safe!” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Keiji bluntly asks. 

“Because now I’m not gonna be a guard anymore,” Bokuto says. Keiji thinks his ears get even redder. His flushed skin is at stark odds with the cloth bandages still wrapped tightly around his chest. (Bite marks.) “Uh, my mother wants me to be a hunter instead, and I kind of… Guard stuff isn’t for me. I’m not really good with the chain of command, like you are.” 

It stings like an insult. Maybe it would’ve been kinder to have been slapped across the face. 

“But I still gotta protect you!” Bokuto blurts out. 

“From what?” 

“What do you need protecting from?” He leans up, just a little, peering up at Keiji like he’s begging for the answer to a test question. 

Keiji, unfortunately, does not have the answer for him. 

“I, uh, also wanted to give you the dragon parts. I don’t really feel like I earned them.” 

“The hydra blood was your idea,” Keiji mildly tells him, because last they’d heard, that’s _all_  Bokuto wanted people to know. 

“You deserve it more.” 

“Why?” 

“Um, just ‘cause your sister died, I mean, the dragon died too, so it’s like… you know she did it. It’s not _your_  kill, but it’s close enough.” 

His awkward stumbling is more endearing than Keiji has the energy for right now. “Alright. Thank you,” they reply tonelessly. 

“And, also,” Bokuto says again, and Keiji wonders if they’ll ever be free of this stilted conversational prison, “you don’t gotta worry about food for awhile, either. I can’t really sell my first couple kills, they’ll be really messy, but I figured I shouldn’t let them go to waste -” 

“Bokuto,” Keiji breaks in, “you don’t need to pity me for my sister’s death.” 

They leave him there, gaping after them. 

It isn’t long enough before they hear, “Wait, wait wait wait!! It wasn’t _pity_ , I swear!” 

Keiji casts a cold look over their shoulder, and Bokuto is only earnest as he follows them like a kicked dog. 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay! I mean, your father is still hurt, and your sister is gone, and now you’re all on your own -” 

“You can’t fly, either, Bokuto,” Keiji reminds him. 

“I can still do stuff, at least!” 

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.” This still sounds an awful lot like pity, too. 

“Okay, but I’m here if you need me, okay? I can help. I only wanted to help.” His shoulders droop - his entire _being_  droops, charred feathers, streaked hair, bright eyes dim. 

Keiji supposes, on some level, he’s probably feeling partially responsible. (Keiji knows they feel more than partially responsible; if only they could have rushed in to help, too.) But they don’t have the emotional energy to spare for him right now, and resolve to sort it out later. If Bokuto doesn’t give up his strange, misguided obsession with taking care of Keiji in the meantime. 

 

–-

 

Koutarou startles when Akaashi Keiji sits down at the stall in the goblin market next to him. 

“I. Uh.” Smooth, real smooth. But in his defense, it’s been almost a year since Then, and he’s _very convinced_  Keiji had come to hate him. They would take whatever gifts Koutarou left, sometimes thank him, and continue to avoid his presence. “I thought Yamiji had market duty today.” 

“I traded,” they reply shortly. 

Koutarou swallows and tries very hard not to fidget. He isn’t sure if he should feel elation or dread at this change of pace. 

“I never thanked you for your patience with me,” Keiji says after a too-long silence. Koutarou jumps at the sound of their voice. “Or for your continued patience.” 

“Patience for what?” 

“It’s actually nice to leave home every once in awhile,” they say, changing the subject, scanning the busy market. “Do you enjoy this work?” 

“Oh, yeah! You get to see lots of different kinds of people out here, and all of the goods, too! Just yesterday I saw this human walk by with a pet wyrmling, and she let me _pet it_.” 

Koutarou doesn’t see as he continues on about the wyrmling, but Keiji smiles, just slightly, behind their claws. 


	64. ushiten: the lamb one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: ushiten  
> rating: safely t  
> summary: Wealth and fortune spirits are greedy by nature, so it's not wrong of him to want his own job, is it?

Wakatoshi makes it through the doorway before freezing in place. 

Tendou blithely continues rolling stockings onto his legs. They’re almost opaque, deep red in color, with white lace trim along the top hem. 

“What are you doing,” Wakatoshi asks, very levelly. 

“I have a job,” Tendou announces and his tail gives a happy thump against the comforter behind him. He extends his leg once the stocking is on, toes pointed toward Wakatoshi, and the witch nearly misses his grin. “You like?” 

“You’re a fox in socks,” he replies. 

Tendou clicks his tongue, probably disappointed despite the fact that Wakatoshi had not said no, and yanks on the other one with a little less posing. He snaps the top of it against his thigh. Satisfied, he stands, toes wiggling in the carpet, and looks at Wakatoshi once more. 

“Well, wait until you see the rest of my uniform.” 

It sounds faintly ominous. 

Wakatoshi isn’t sure what he expects - Tendou has a nice body but he isn’t built like the usual lingerie model - so he’s left blinking at the maid dress that Tendou reappears in. The dress itself is the same maroon as the stockings, with a white apron around the waist, with ruffly white straps over the shoulders. He can barely see a bow tied in the back, and there’s another, brighter red one tied beneath the collar of the dress. 

His tail wags happily behind him, and Wakatoshi cocks his head to the side. “Do you need a glamor?” 

“No, it’s a magic-friendly place. Is that really the _only_  thing you want to ask?” 

“How did they find a dress in your size?” 

Tendou rolls his eyes and dismisses him in favor of adjusting the little bows that are supposed to(?) be by or on his ears. Wakatoshi frowns, because he didn’t think Tendou had been fishing for compliments. Tendou usually just _asks_  for compliments, and it’s not as if Wakatoshi denies him. 

“What kind of job is this?” Wakatoshi tries again. 

“Maid cafe in the German goblin market.” 

“Are you homesick again?” 

Tendou snorts. “No. I’m also not _German_.” 

“I know that,” Wakatoshi replies. Not meekly, because he’s not meek nor particularly embarrassed or cowed or _anything_ , but his reassurance is strangely fast. He would never forget such an important detail. 

“Nothing else?” Tendou prompts. 

Wakatoshi doesn’t know what he wants him to say. He’s long since given up on asking why a fortune spirit needs a job; Tendou seems happier taking on an odd assortment of part-time jobs, and equally as happy leaving them when they cease to entertain him or refuse his ever-increasing salary demands. He probably finds those parting arguments to be entertainment, too. 

Hell, this isn’t even the strangest job Wakatoshi has seen from him. 

And yet, the image of the socks and the dress and the misplaced little bows, it all sticks with him like a thorn in his side. 

“Would you pick up some lamb on your way back? I’d like to try a new recipe tonight.” 

Tendou scowls at him and leaves without acknowledgement. 

 

–-

 

“You’re rapidly en route to becoming my least favorite fox,” Yasushi sneers. 

“No humans allowed, you said nothing about animals,” Tendou hums in response, sipping his wine. 

“I’d thought that’d be obvious, what with this being a fucking _bar_  and all.” 

“When’s Semi-Semi getting in?” 

“If he hasn’t already turned around and headed back home after hearing _you_  were back in town, then I’d be surprised.” 

“What a lenient boss,” Tendou replies as he idly makes another lump of gold to slide across the bar. His ears flick back - free of those annoying bows - as he hears the usual titter of other patrons debating trying to cozy up with the wealth spirit. The usuals know better. 

“I have a Fox Avoidance Clause for all employees.” 

“So what happens if we’re both here at the same time? Do you and Semi-Semi _both_  hide like frightened children?” Because that is _definitely_  something to set up in the future. He supposes he could stand Futakuchi’s presence long enough for the sake of the joke. 

The lamb by his stool shuffles closer to his leg, the bell on its collar giving a faint little _ding_. It bleats nervously. 

Tendou reaches down, scoops it up, and sets it on his lap like a cat. Yasushi’s eyes narrow impossibly further. His wings have started up a constant, aggravated buzz, too, so Tendou supposes he doesn’t have long before the value of gold suddenly plummets and he’s hauled out by his ears. “Do you think I could give it some wine? Marinate it from the inside out,” Tendou asks conversationally, putting the lamb’s little hooves on the bartop just for the way Yasushi bares his teeth. He’s too easy to rile up. 

“Shouldn’t you be going home to your witch? I thought that’s what you were dressed up for.” 

“Ooh, a surprisingly well-placed barb! You _can_  be taught!” Tendou claps, making the lamb jump and bleat again, and finishes his glass of wine with one big gulp. “If you must know -” 

“I really _don’t_  want to know -” 

“- I have a new job, and sorrow of sorrows, its appeal has gone completely over my witch’s head. I thought Semi-Semi would at least appreciate it, but how can I beg for sympathy when he doesn’t even show up for his own job? _C’est dommage_.” He slides the empty glass across the counter and drops another little lump of gold next to it. “Tell him not to avoid me next time, and I’ll try not to take my dinner with me next time, too. Bye-bye! Come along, my little lamb.” 

Tendou carries the lamb out of the bar, skirt swishing around his wagging tail as he departs. He’s taken off most of the accoutrements and he’s not certain how well he actually _likes_  the cafe, but it’s breezy, wearing a dress. He thinks he likes it. 

He can’t jump with the living lamb in his arms - he definitely wants to deliver the animal whole and alive to Wakatoshi - so he meanders through various goblin markets until he hits the right continent, then finds the local doors to head home. The lamb, at least, seems content to be carried, not squirming too much, completely ignorant to what Tendou’s growling stomach means. 

By the time he sneaks into the apartment complex - he hadn’t actually thought to get a glamor, and there’s a lot to stare at when a matagot in a maid dress is carrying a baby sheep through a residential area, but it’s late at night and he’s used to sneaking around - he’s hungry, tired, and looking forward to the payoff of carting the animal around. 

The first thing he notices is the _smell_ : it already smells like dinner, savory and heady, and Tendou nearly drops the lamb. 

The second thing he notices is Wakatoshi in the tiny kitchen, looking too large in it, wearing the amusingly frilly pink and green vine-patterned apron Shirabu had gotten him as a joke that he unironically loves. Tendou blinks, _slowly_  registering the tanned skin beneath the straps; Wakatoshi, for some reason, is cooking shirtless beneath the apron. 

“Ah, you’re back,” Wakatoshi says, not looking toward him or commenting on Tendou’s pointed tardiness. Whatever he’s cooking, it smells almost done if not already done, and Tendou’s stomach grumbles again. The lamb shifts in his arms, apparently superfluous. 

Tendou walks into the kitchen, lamb held out, at the same time Wakatoshi turns to offer a bowl of stew. 

“Ah,” Wakatoshi repeats. He stares, long and hard, at the lamb. Tendou, similarly, stares at the prepared dinner and the realization that Wakatoshi is also not wearing pants, just boxers and socks. 

“So you didn’t need the lamb, after all,” Tendou says after a pregnant pause, and pulls the animal back against his chest, as if defending it from its cousin in the stew. 

“Do you know how to butcher animals?” Wakatoshi asks curiously. He stays where he is, shuffling awkwardly; there’s not enough room for him to maneuver around Tendou and the lamb in the small kitchen. 

“I assumed it’d be one of your many skills.” 

“I’m sure I could figure it out. But I already made you dinner. You can… set that down in the living room,” he says, slowly, perplexed. He’s still staring in rather adorable consternation at the lamb. 

“Why are you mostly naked?” Tendou asks, unmoving. “That’s not how you usually cook, and I doubt the recipe called for muscles or a strip tease.” 

“Kawanishi advised this.” 

Tendou takes a blessed moment to imagine how that conversation went. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he replies, “ _why_.” 

“I was concerned I had offended you in some way earlier today. I didn’t mean to. Would you please move?” 

Tendou, kindly, backs out of his way and sets the lamb down by the kitchen table. “You’d have to try harder than that to _offend_  me.” 

“Then I was concerned I hadn’t pleased you in some way.” 

“Would it kill you not to be serious for two seconds?” 

Wakatoshi _huffs_ , actually huffs, as he sets the first bowl down on the table. He apparently loses patience with the second one and brings it over with a murmur and a flick of his hand; he only spills a little over the edge as it settles in front of himself. “I didn’t know how to react when you showed me your new work uniform, and I thought it would be rude to comment on the sexual appeal of it when it was for a job. But I didn’t know what else you wanted from me, so.” He gives a little shrug and sits down, stubbornly avoiding eye contact. 

“If I minded a little objectification, I wouldn’t have taken such a silly job,” Tendou replies. He plops down opposite him at the table, and beams at the cutely domestic picture they must paint: a mostly-naked witch in an apron, and a buzzed matagot in a maid uniform. He likes the absurdity. “So you decided to let _me_  objectify _you_  in some sort of apology?” 

“You enjoy me as much as I enjoy you, and it wasn’t any harder to cook without clothes than it is with them on. What are we going to do with the sheep, though?” 

Tendou glances down at it, and it peers up at him with big eyes and another little bleat. “Don’t suppose you want another pet, huh?” 

“I don’t know how to care for a lamb.” 

“I’ll give it to Semi,” Tendou replies. He finally tries the stew, and as with most things Wakatoshi puts effort toward, it turned out perfect, if a little textbook. “Was the French recipe decided before or after you thought you had to apologize?” 

“Before. You get mopey when you’re homesick.” 

“I don’t!” He knows he does. Tendou shoves a chunk of potato in his mouth to avoid incriminating himself further. 

“I thought it’d make you happy,” Wakatoshi says with a little shrug. Tendou knows he doesn’t mean it in any particularly emotional way, and he values it that much more for it. 

“You know what’d make me even happier?” 

“What?” 

“You can help me take off my uniform. With your teeth.” 

“That seems -” 

“I believe in you, Toshi.” 

“I suppose I could try,” Wakatoshi murmurs, eyes averted, the closest the man ever gets to bashful. Tendou considers it a great success. “But you’re taking care of that lamb until you give it to your friend.” 

“I bought it for you!” 

“You actually _bought_  it?” 

“Okay, I stole it. But _you_  asked for lamb.” 

“For you,” Wakatoshi deadpans. 

“It’s your lamb now,” Tendou maintains. 

“And _you’re_  taking care of it if you don’t want me to bind you with those socks.” 

Tendou stares at him, both surprised and quite interested in the idea, and Wakatoshi seems to realize this after a beat. 

He sighs, hand raking back through his dark hair. “You’re taking care of it if you _do_  want me to do that,” he amends. 

“Deal,” Tendou replies at once. 


	65. kyouhaba: the coming home one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kyouhaba  
> rating: g for great fluffy times  
> summary: Kentarou comes home after the purge night.

“You smell like shit.” 

Kentarou does not expect Shigeru to be awake this time of night (morning), but he’s not exactly surprised. He’s a heavy sleeper, but he has a kind of sense about whenever Kentarou is doing things. Or is in danger, maybe. He’s still not too into the whole Blood Contract For Life thing, and doesn’t care to research it further. 

Not that it was dangerous tonight. Emotional kids aside. Kentarou has faced down worse, after all, up to and including the fluffy-haired man sprawled languorously across the whole bed. Shigeru yawns and doesn’t bother to cover his mouth, but he does, at least, roll to make room for him. 

Kentarou strips off the rest of his outerwear and pants - his coat is splattered with all sorts of nasty things, and Shigeru can call him out on it in the morning, since Kentarou is too tired to dispose of anything now - and crawls in after him. The bed is warm and Shigeru is even warmer. 

He even indulges Kentarou by allowing him to be the big spoon. Half the time that’s a battle, half the time Kentarou curls up facing the wall out of habit. But once in awhile, when they’re not snapping at each other’s throats or too busy to have a normal sleep schedule, Kentarou enjoys having Shigeru in his arms like this. 

“I’m dumping you in the bath as soon as I wake up,” Shigeru murmurs drowsily, “regardless of whether or not you’re up. Be prepared.” 

“Don’t act cute and sleepy when you’re trying to wag your tail against me,” Kentarou huffs and reaches between them to grab at the wiggly offender. Shigeru laughs, but at least he tries to muffle it with the pillow. 

His aggravating inugami tries to wag his tail again and Kentarou growls and leans up to chomp down on his fluffy ear. 

Shigeru makes a sound that is neither yip nor moan, but it seems to embarrass him either way, for he quiets down and stops his wiggling. Kentarou wraps both arms around Shigeru’s waist, flops back down into the pillow, and finally drifts off to sleep. 

(Shigeru wakes him several hours later in the process of trying to carry him to the shower, and they both end up half-dressed under the spray, unhappy and glowering at each other.) 


	66. kuroaka: the trust exercise one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroaka  
> rating: m  
> summary: Don't tell Akaashi they have control issues.

“Y’know, when we said you should - _ahh_  - get over trying to control Bo, I don’t think we m-meant - _oh_ god.” 

Keiji loosens their grip as quickly as they’d tightened it, and Tetsurou chases after their hand, hips canting upward in vain. “You’re not supposed to be moving,” they remind him, and trail a delicate finger along his inner thigh. Tetsurou shudders again at their touch. 

“It’s a bit hard when I don’t know when you’re gonna do anything,” Tetsurou pants in response. 

“That is the point.” Keiji cups Tetsurou’s cheek, gently, thumbing the thick material of the blindfold. 

“Trust exercises are wild with tengu,” he mutters, and tries to turn into Keiji’s touch, to kiss at their palm. Keiji doesn’t let him. They’ve gotten better with kissing, especially when it doesn’t involve someone else’s tongue in their mouth, but this is not to indulge Tetsurou. At least not in the sappy way he normally claims he wants. 

(Nor is today _getting over_  Koutarou, because Keiji doesn’t fucking  _need_  to. …Perhaps relax a bit on the protective impulses, but they know Tetsurou means well. He always does.)

(Not that it makes Keiji feel any better about being called a control freak.) 

The shadowy tendrils binding Tetsurou quiver as he struggles to stay still. Keiji finds it mildly amusing, in some way, but largely, they find Tetsurou’s self-restraint incredibly admirable. _Arousing_. He hasn’t complained once no matter how Keiji positioned him, despite how he must want to move, search out friction and heat and Keiji. God knows it’s not as if he has to restrain himself much with Kenma or Koutarou. 

“You’re doing so well,” Keiji tells him with another soft touch he leans into like a cat. Sentimental words may not come naturally to Keiji, but they’ve had long enough to practice with praise. Even if Tetsurou does not respond in the same way Koutarou would. The difference is just as enthralling as they’d expect. 

“I could do better if you’d let me,” Tetsurou snaps without heat. Keiji trails their hand down his chest, watching goosebumps break out in their wake, and the way Tetsurou tries to press forward without seeming like he’s moving. He’s incredibly transparent like this. 

“You’re supposed to be still, and obey commands. You have practice at that, don’t you?” 

“And I guess you have practice ordering others around, huh?” 

Keiji’s patience thins, and they feel their eye twitch. Under the pretense of another gentle touch, they brush their thumb over Tetsurou’s bottom lip, and he presses chaste kitten kisses against the pad. Keiji presses down, until Tetsurou gets the hint and opens his mouth obediently. 

Tetsurou makes a noise back in his throat as Keiji pushes two fingers into his mouth. He wriggles, again, tongue pushing back and making garbled sounds that could be an attempt at a word, but he doesn’t back down, nor does he use their stopping gesture. 

“A gag is probably best for you,” Keiji whispers into his ear. Tetsurou licks at their fingers a little more sloppily in response, utterly uncaring about the drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth. “Not that you don’t make pleasant noises, but I’m getting tired of you running your mouth at every opportunity.” 

Tetsurou _definitely_  tries to say something, but Keiji honestly has no idea what. 

Good. 

They reach down and grasp his arousal again, using firm, fast strokes, just for the way he shouts and squirms. He only thrusts twice into Keiji’s grip before he catches himself and freezes. The tendrils binding him quiver and tighten enough to turn his skin white around the edges. 

Keiji pulls their fingers free of his mouth, wipes off the excess saliva on his chest, and runs their hand over the cords cutting into Tetsurou’s bicep. Their rhythm slows on his cock. “You don’t have to make these so tight.” 

“You want me to stay still.” 

“I believe in you. You stopped yourself already.” Keiji rubs at his arm until they loosen, and Tetsurou’s posture relaxes just a notch. Keiji doesn’t stop stroking him, however. 

“I could just sit still, y’know.” 

“But this looks prettier,” they say evenly, and run their hand over the rest of the criss-crossing tendrils. 

Tetsurou bites out a breathless laugh that spirals halfway out into a moan. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” His voice has gotten rough, deeper than usual, and Keiji is glad he cannot see their expression. 

They think it would be too telling if they ask him to speak more _now_ , when they’d just been gagging him. 

“I know I’m gorgeous,” Tetsurou continues, and Keiji immediately swings back into wishing to gag him, “but I also know there’s better things I could be doing with these things.” 

Keiji looks down at one shadowy tentacle curling its way up their ankle. Tetsurou has, at least, kept himself bound, but Keiji doesn’t appreciate this lapse all the same. 

“This is an exercise in self-restraint.” 

“You want to push me until I break, yeah, I get it. I’ll behave, promise. But I _really_ , really also want to do more than sit here. Do you want me to beg? Are we doing this until I come? I need a goal in mind, _please_?” 

He’s missing the point. 

Keiji, also, isn’t certain how far this will progress, but isn’t that the _point_? Tetsurou always gets pushier when he wants to orgasm (a trait Keiji is _absolutely certain_  he picked up from Kenma) but Keiji doesn’t want to deal with his whining. He wants to get to the point where Tetsurou is pliable, and needy, and _quiet_. 

Softness hadn’t worked at this point, and any kind of talk inevitably leads to cheekiness. So it seems what remains is a bit of force. 

They run their fingers over the shadowy tendrils again, this time examining the magic behind it. Tetsurou is familiar to him, every bit of him, and Keiji’s had practice manipulating others’ magic since they’ve known the two of them so long. 

So it’s not too complicated to override the demonic magic. 

Keiji wraps the lax tendrils back into their proper places around Tetsurou, this time knotting them rather than trusting Tetsurou to hold still, manipulating them like so much rope. Rope that makes Tetsurou gasp, and flush deeply, and groan against their every touch. Keiji lifts Tetsurou with one hand, bending him over onto the mattress in order to make sure his wrists are secure behind his back. 

Tetsurou’s volume increases with every cinch, every movement of his own tendrils against him, every push of Keiji’s magic onto his own. 

Maybe they should have expected it when, in the process of checking how much give the tentacles around the tops of his thighs are, Tetsurou shudders and comes with a long, rough groan.

Keiji doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Tetsurou twitches against their hands. Slowly, they pull back, releasing him and helping him to sit up again. The inky black tendrils melt away into nothing and Tetsurou flops against the bed, panting, face purposefully turned away from Keiji. 

“Are you alright?” 

“That was a lot, okay -” 

“Had you been close?” Keiji neutrally asks. 

“I hadn’t thought so,” Tetsurou petulantly replies against the pillow. Keiji sighs and crawls fully onto the bed behind him. He shivers at every point of contact between them, and his breathing is still a little uneven. 

But it’s not long before he turns around to face them. Not that it means much with the blindfold still on. Keiji reaches around and unties it, and Tetsurou blearily blinks, before his eyes focus and he breaks into a soft, warm smile. It crinkles the corners of his eyes, makes the dimple in his chin appear, and just as effortlessly makes Keiji melt into his touch when he leans forward to press their foreheads together. 

“Have you learned a lesson about force?” Tetsurou hums.

“I’ve learned that you like it more than I’d thought.” 

“W-Well -” 

“You’re fine,” Keiji whispers and cups his face. They kiss him, quick and closed-mouth, and Tetsurou grins with all his teeth. 

And then rolls them, so he’s on top, sitting squarely on Keiji’s hips. Their heart thuds at the change. “Your turn,” the demon announces with a glint in his eye. “Let’s see how well _you_  do with a trust exercise, shall we?”


	67. ushiten: the sleeping in one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: ushiten  
> rating: g for softness  
> summary: Wakatoshi is a man who must _learn_ to indulge. It's a good thing he has such a talented teacher.

Here’s the thing: higher spirits do not require as much sleep on a daily basis as the average human. Whatever Ushijima Wakatoshi has become, neither does he. He’d always been very punctual about his sleep schedule before, but now, with Tendou, things have gotten… lax. 

He hesitates to use the word “domestic”. (He always does.) 

But the mornings - those have become precious in a way Wakatoshi can’t put into words. Before, there were alarm clocks, morning jogs, and checking in with the coven. Now, there aren’t. Now, Wakatoshi stays in bed until the sun has long since crept across the sky, making his legs too hot beneath the sheets, sometimes slanting up across Tendou’s back, if he’s sprawled especially during the night. 

Wakatoshi still wakes up earlier, but somehow, he never leaves the bed too early. 

There’s something decidedly precious about the way Wakatoshi is allowed to languish in bed. It’s not a word he generally likes to use, but he greatly enjoys the simple pleasure of stretching his legs, his toes, his arms - provided Tendou isn’t using either as a pillow. He knows he’s tall, but he rarely feels _long_ , but the happiness he feels nudging Tendou gently out of the way while hooking his feet over the edge of the bed is something he cherishes. 

Wakatoshi does not get much time to relax. 

Their blinds remain perpetually slanted, not quite closed, painting stripes across the bed and their bodies. The fern Tendou had gotten him still sits in the windowsill, and further casts shadow across them. (Wakatoshi, to this day, still isn’t quite sure what kind of plant it is, other than decidedly otherworldly. It responds well to soft talk and light amounts of water, and as much direct sunlight as possible.) 

Wakatoshi keeps his eyes closed, cranes his head a little to aim for a more comfortable spot on the overwarm pillow, and Tendou stirs beside him. In some ways, a pity: while Tendou doesn’t get out of bed after waking for some time, he does bring a certain amount of energy, too. He always does. Sometimes, Wakatoshi likes the sleeping form of his lover best, but he decides that today is fine. 

He listens patiently as soft rustling becomes sleepy snuffling, and then there is the near-ticklish sensation of Tendou’s tail brushing against his thigh. Wakatoshi listens to the slow rhythm of his breathing become a little faster as he truly wakes. 

“ _Rev’ei-toi_ ,” Tendou mumbles as he rolls over, now facing Wakatoshi. His face is still lax with sleep, but he scoots closer until he can force one arm beneath Wakatoshi’s back and throw the other over his chest. “ _Réveille-toi_ ,” Tendou repeats, mostly coherent this time. 

“You’ve wrapped yourself around me,” Wakatoshi points out. 

“You’re supposed to offer to get up and make me breakfast in bed.” 

“You sound fairly awake yourself.” 

Tendou yawns, hugely, showing off fangs. Wakatoshi knows it’s not a threat. “Nope, I’m still asleep, Toshi. You need to sneak out of bed in order to pamper me this morning.” 

“Why?” He’s amused. He’s trying not to be, out of habit, but he’s honestly amused by Tendou. He’s utterly endeared to every part of his personality. Even this bratty morning side. 

Tendou idly trails his fingertips up from Wakatoshi’s chest, over the bump of his collarbone, then to the scar on his neck. “Bad dreams,” Tendou murmurs. 

“Alright.” Wakatoshi gives them both one more long, languorous moment - he brushes Tendou’s loose, soft hair back out of his face - before worming his way out of Tendou’s strong grip. The matagot whines all the while. “I’ll make you food, but you can’t complain when I have to leave.” 

“You could’ve said some bad come-on about how I could eat _you_  instead.” 

If he had, he had the feeling Tendou would have genuinely tried gnawing on him before anything sexual could have started. “Do you not want food?” Wakatoshi asks carefully. His brain is still lagging the tiniest bit, and Tendou has a bad habit of sometimes saying one thing and meaning another, anyway. 

“I want,” Tendou says, and buys himself time with another wide, toothy yawn, “I think I want you to stay in bed a bit longer with me, after all.” 

Wakatoshi lays back down, and Tendou eagerly but sluggishly wraps himself all around him once more. It’s a little too warm; with the sun shining across half the bed, and their shared body heat, and the blankets Tendou had dragged over with him, Wakatoshi knows he’ll be sweating before long. 

But still, this is nice. Too nice to give up. 


	68. kamafuta: the soft touch one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kamafuta  
> rating: m-ish  
> summary: Kenji apparently has a weakness for the softer things in life. What a pity Yasushi is a man made of hardness.

Kenji ducks on lucky reflex as a bottle is thrown against the wall the moment he walks in. 

Mood, ruined. 

He stares at the glass embedded in the wooden wall inches from his head, dripping some strangely viscous fluid. There are shards of the same dark-colored glass littering the floor and a nearby table, and he thinks he’s been splattered with whatever that drink had been. He hopes it’s not poisonous. 

“Now you’ve done it,” Eita deadpans, just before Yasushi lets out a roar of outrage. 

Kenji catches several choice words - “expensive” and “no fights allowed” and many, _many_  curses - and skitters away from the near-death experience.

A cackling red fox zips out the open door and Eita turns from the sight, making it _very clear_  he’s not cleaning this one up. A typical night for the bar, then. Yasushi, dripping sparks and fairy dust, stomps over to the door, too late and too angry. Kenji sneezes as soon as he’s close enough. 

Yasushi does a slow double-take, like he’s just now noticing him. “Rough night already? It’s still early,” Kenji points out. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Ah, that explains the strange look on Yasushi’s face. Kenji scrubs a hand over his cheek; he’d thought that had been whatever drink that’d been, but he supposes it’s warm to the touch. It doesn’t sting until his thumb brushes over what must be the cut. 

“Stupid fucking foxes,” Yasushi grumbles. He grabs Kenji’s wrist and drags him toward the back. 

“That’s mean.” 

“Eita, if he comes back here again, I’m _skinning_ him.” 

“Have fun,” Eita replies flatly as they pass. 

Yasushi is already a large man, and he’s hovering off the ground to boot, and Kenji isn’t certain he noticed that the kitsune had been digging his heels into the floor. “Is that going to poison me or something?” Kenji asks, concerned. Even for Yasushi, that’s strange behavior. 

Well, Kenji thinks he’s _always_  kind of strange. What kind of fae noble decides to fuck off from court to run a bar? Moniwa certainly didn’t have the balls. 

“Sorry, no.” 

“Then why so apologetic? Did _you_  throw the bottle that nearly killed me?” 

Yasushi drags him through the doorway and sits him on a crate. Gone is the worried expression, replaced by something far scarier: mischief. “You don’t know what that bottle was, huh?” 

“Are you _sure_  I’m not going to die? I’m still working on growing out more tails,” Kenji suspiciously replies and pets over two of his tails for pity points. Not that that ever works on Yasushi. 

“Nope, sorry, it was totally organic and completely safe. You got splattered with siren come.” 

Kenji leaps from the crate and scrubs furiously at his face, Yasushi _cackling_  all the while. The cut on his cheek stings from the rough treatment, but now if he’s getting _who knows what_  into it, who cares about a bit of pain? 

Yasushi is still laughing - he has a hideous laugh, and Kenji hates it wholeheartedly - as he pulls Kenji’s claws away from his face. “Before you ask - no, not Eita’s. That’d be disgusting.” 

“This is _already_  fucking disgusting!” Kenji howls. 

(He thinks he hears Eita laugh from the front.)

“That bastard fox brought it in as a joke and, as usual, started shit. It was professional grade, so you’ll be fine.” Again with the stupid feats of strength, Yasushi holds Kenji’s wrists down and out of the way so he can inspect his face. They’re entirely too close. He’d maybe almost care if he weren’t covered in another person’s come right now. “You managed to claw yourself. Nice going.” 

“I have bigger issues right now,” Kenji retorts. “Get me a bath _this fucking second_ , Kamasaki.” 

They’re still very, very close. Kenji can feel the warmth from his breath on his lips. Yasushi doesn’t seem keen on letting him go, or even be _listening_  to him very hard, that asshat. 

Ah. Wait.

Siren ejaculate is an aphrodisiac. 

Kenji has sold it a handful of times, but never dealt with it himself. Most magical aphrodisiacs don’t work on higher spirits, much less kitsune, so why bother? It’s not as if Yasushi usually had much interest in other kinds of magic, either. 

“I came here looking to rile you up, but I didn’t want it to be off of _this_. You’re disgusting,” Kenji tells him fondly. 

“Wait, you - ?” Yasushi blinks back to himself, dropping to the floor with his grip loosening on Kenji’s wrists. 

“Yes. But the mood is gone, on my end, so unless you want me rubbing this all over you and giving you the worst case of blue balls _in your life_ , you’re going to find me a place to bathe immediately,” Kenji purrs and leans up and in, words ghosting over Yasushi’s mouth. 

He feels the man tremble before him. It’s a heady experience. 

“You’re so crass,” Yasushi tells him with a shaky, sharp-toothed grin. “And disgusting, too.” 

“You can try to flatter me later. Bath. _Fucking now_.” Just to make his point, he digs his claws into what he can reach of Yasushi’s forearms. He jolts and hisses, and _finally_  gets moving. 

He stays in the attached refurbished inn to the bar, which is less an inn these days and more a place for them to store drunk bodies and charge them for it later. Yasushi is the only bar worker who bothers using the place himself, but he’s personalized his room, and claimed the nicest one with an attached bath. Kenji has never complained. It’s a convenient location for them both. 

“What if I got you an iron tub,” Kenji murmurs as Yasushi deposits him in the corner next to the copper tub. “It could be a birthday gift. I’m nice like that.” 

“I would find a way to touch it, if only so I could pick it up and try to hit you with it,” Yasushi replies distractedly. He doesn’t make eye contact with Kenji, even as the kitsune sinks into a crouch so he can lean against the tub to listen to it fill, but Kenji can see the bulge in his pants he so desperately tries to hide. He smirks. 

“I could spend all day in there without you bothering me,” Kenji smugly sings. 

Yasushi leans over, buzzes his wings over him, and sprinkles a _poof_  of fairy dust right in his face. He laughs as he leans out of the way again to avoid the sneezing fit. 

“Y-You ass!” Kenji snarls between sneezes. Now his nose is dripping _and_  who knows what is drying on his face (he wishes he didn’t know). 

“Sorry, sorry,” Yasushi snickers, Not At All Sorry. “C’mon, clothes off.” 

“Burn these for me.” 

“You’re better at fire magic than me.” 

“ _You’re_  the one who got me into this mess. Be nice to me.” Kenji pouts up at him after stripping off his shirt and handing it up. There is still a disgusting smear of come on the shoulder of the shirt. He’s lucky not more made it onto him, or god, his _hair_  or _fur_. His ears pin back at the very thought. 

“Sorry,” Yasushi says again, taking the shirt, and looking sincere for the first time. “But you _did_  get some in your hair.” 

“Disgusting!” Kenji barks and tears at his hair. 

“Hey, stop shedding all over my bathroom!” 

“I’m a _mess_  and I need that tub to fill up faster - !” 

Before Kenji could scratch at himself further, Yasushi kneels down, lifts him up, and dumps him into the half-filled tub with his breeches still on. 

Kenji comes back up after _much_  undignified spluttering and splashing. His face feels especially slimy. For once, however, he doesn’t even have anything to say; he sits in the water, dripping pathetically, and stares up at Yasushi. Yasushi is trying _damn_  hard not to smile. He’s failing. 

“You’re a mess,” he tells him with no small amount of affection. 

“How much of this is pity, and how much is the after-effects leaving?” 

“Wasn’t my fault I got a contact high from you.” 

“Yeah, it kind of _is_. You shouldn’t even have materials like that in a bar, much less - oh my _god_ , do you _mix drinks_  with that?!” Kenji gasps, eyes sparkling for the way Yasushi’s nose immediately scrunches and he lets out a disgusted sound. His wings buzz in irritation. “Imagine how many customers would come in if you did! I bet you’d get regular love spirits.” 

“ _Just_  what we need, more sex in the bar!” 

“And what a pity you won’t let _me_  -” 

“I still have your stupid smelly fur shampoo here,” Yasushi interrupts with a red face, “but I think I stashed it somewhere. Be right back.” 

Kenji laughs at his poor retreat. Served him right. He peels off his wet pants in the meantime, and dumps them apologetically over the side of the tub. The wet _splat_  they make may be the grossest part of the evening. Kenji uncurls his tails and lays on his stomach in the filling tub, cleaner cheek resting on his bent arms. Yasushi needs a pillow in here. 

“How am I supposed to get in if you’re hogging all the space?” Yasushi asks. Kenji hadn’t heard him return over the sound of the water. 

“Oh,” Kenji coos. “You wanted to _join_  me? How am I supposed to know if you’re still addled or not?” 

“I’ll scrub you until you’re sure. Now scoot.” 

He hardly waits before climbing in, and Kenji hastily pulls his tails out of the way before they’re sat on. Yasushi had done it before, even despite the curse Kenji put on him. He had it broken within the week, anyway. Come to think, why was Kenji attracted to one of the few people who _could_  break his curses? That sucked so much fun out of life. 

He ends up with his knees drawn to his chest, tails spread behind him as a cushion, facing Yasushi. “I feel unclean. Fix this,” Kenji commands. 

Yasushi rolls his eyes. 

“Would you take any soiled customer to your room like this?” 

“What? Of course not.” 

“Was it just because you were horny?” 

“No, you were pathetic looking even before that stuff got to me.” 

“You’re clear-headed now? Well, I suppose as clear-headed as you can ever gesh _hhkk!_ ” Kenji flails as Yasushi dunks his head under the water, and it isn’t until he starts clawing at him that he lets him back up. Kenji rears back, hair plastered to his face, coughing. “You - you asshole!” 

“You bring out the best in me,” Yasushi flatly replies. “C’mon, duck your head for me again.” 

“You can’t use _fur shampoo_  on my hair -” 

Kenji swipes his hair out of his eyes and sees Yasushi put an adorably tiny amount on the tips of his fingers. Kenji’s ears prick up. 

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” He obediently leans forward and Yasushi massages the shampoo into the delicate fur on his fox ears. Kenji nearly purrs. Times that Yasushi is gentle are rare, and while Kenji is incredibly miffed about the accident earlier, usually it takes more sympathy to gain these precious moments. Yasushi doesn’t even tug when he rubs at the base of his ears, and three of Kenji’s tails _whap_  wetly against the side of the tub. 

“You always melt when I scratch your ears,” Yasushi murmurs. “Why don’t you let me do this more often?” 

“Because you usually pull.” Kenji can’t even be snappy in his response. He’s too pleased. 

“Maybe if you were less of a brat, I wouldn’t have to pull on your ears.” 

“You pull on my ears even when I’m a perfectly behaved upstanding citizen. You also pull on them sometimes when you try to pull my hair. Really, you pull on them a _lot_. Certainly a lot more than I deserve, so keep this up for a few more minutes, at least. In apology.” 

“Oh yeah, sure. You deserve everything good in the world. You little shit.” The words are incredibly fond, though, so Kenji doesn’t shy away for fear of more childish ear-tugging. 

With magic, Yasushi pulls water up to rinse, and his fingers remain on Kenji as he carefully cleans off all the shampoo. The continued tenderness deserves something in return, Kenji feels; he’s more comfortable with this strange relationship between them when he views it as transactional, instead of anything else. (Anything else beyond friendly and sometimes sexual. Feelings and foxes don’t mix well as a general rule. Fae make it even trickier.) 

So he tells him, “You know, I wanted to see you today.” 

“Yeah, I got that.” 

“For the sex, yeah, but sometimes I just want to see you, too,” Kenji confesses. “It’s just a good distraction. You don’t tease me so much after an orgasm or two. The edges are softened out.” 

“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole to get what you wanted -” 

“Shh, you’re supposed to be spoiling me, remember?” 

“Is _that_  what I’m doing,” Yasushi says with a yank on one of Kenji’s ears. He whines and squirms. “Your tails next, may as well since you look like a drowned rat. I don’t want you complainin' about this later.” 

It’s even rarer for Yasushi to freely volunteer to even touch Kenji’s tails. He may be able to break curses quickly, but he doesn’t invite trouble, and Kenji usually doesn’t want him near them, either. 

He also doesn’t know how this is going to work, since they’re in a bathtub, not a spring. They’re not cramped, but there isn’t much space, either. 

Yasushi sighs and leans back against his side of the bathtub. “You can turn around, or you can come here.” 

“Is this another way to be lewd?” Kenji asks, as if he _minds_. Right now, actually, that sounds nice. Maybe the mood’s been salvaged, after all.

It takes a little bit of maneuvering and things are a tighter fit than before, knees on the outside of Yasushi’s hips and pressing against the warm copper of the tub, chests flush together. The water is past their waists but filling more slowly now. Kenji doesn’t know when he turned it down, but it’s still hot, the perfect temperature. 

“Your wings are fine?” Kenji asks in a rare case of vocalized concern. 

“They’re fine. Your legs?” 

“Actually -” More wiggling, but Kenji ends up seated in his lap with a proud grin, ankles hooked behind his back. The angle is worse for Yasushi to reach his tails, but he can deal with that. “How accommodating you are today.” 

“Maybe I’ll chalk this up as too difficult and give up,” he replies. 

“Mm, no, you said you’d wash my tails.” 

“I can change my mind.” 

“I’ll curse you.” 

“I’ll shove fairy dust up your nose.” 

Kenji recoils in horror, nose wrinkled as if that will save it. Yasushi’s dust has already turned the water fairly opalescent, pretty and thankfully _not_  so prone to making him sneeze, but he knows even dripping wet he could still manage to do that. “I’m trying to be _nice_ , and this is the thanks I get? Clearly wild folk like you only respond to brutality and threats.” 

“And clearly youkai like you don’t understand kindness or generosity. How the hell are you being nice?” 

“It might be harder for you to reach my tails, but I was kind of thinking it’d be easier for you to, I don’t know, maybe reach my dick or something,” Kenji points out. “But if you don’t want to, then I’ll move and you can try to soothe yourself with the risk of curses. Maybe that’s your new kink - _mmph_!” 

Kenji is _oh so rudely_  interrupted by Yasushi clapping his hand over his mouth. 

When he takes it off, Kenji tries to seize his split-second chance to continue sassing him, but Yasushi is faster this time. He catches Kenji’s mouth with his own. 

Yasushi tastes like spiced wine and magic and that unfortunate chalky fairy dust taste that always makes Kenji’s tongue tingle. His hand comes over to cup Kenji’s jaw, thumb brushing the cuts on his cheek, and his magic makes Kenji shudder as he heals the minor wounds. 

 _Not fair_ , Kenji thinks. Magic is very effective on both of them in terms of sexual play, and for that reason they usually don’t use it, as used to escalation as they both were. 

Yasushi’s hand cards up through his shaggy hair, and Kenji leans into the touch, expecting his hair to get pulled - instead, Yasushi rubs his fingers against the base of his ear, and Kenji _melts_  against him. It’s not a sexual touch, doesn’t even _do_ anything for his wakening arousal, but somehow, the sensation makes it better as Yasushi kisses him. 

Kenji, putty in his lap, weakly clasps at Yasushi’s biceps. Every rub against his ears and scalp is another soft zing through him, stealing away his strength in a way Kenji finds bizarrely thrilling. He kind of likes this soft, touchy side of things. _Not fair, not fair._  

Yasushi’s other hand skates down his side, moving around to his spine, urging his hips forward. Kenji complies. The fae man beneath him is nearly fully hard again - what a surprise, he was so easy to rile - but he apparently isn’t content with just manhandling Kenji. 

He presses hard in the base of his spine, then drags his fingers through the wet fur of his topmost tails. Yasushi strokes what he could reach in a curious mix of petting and something more akin to jacking off - it isn’t _un_ pleasant, but like the combination of the ear scratches and the kissing, it's a sensory overload in a nonsexual way. It kind of makes it better. 

But he definitely didn’t need to be going against the fur with his tails. “Just one direction, please,” Kenji slurs against his lips, half-drunk on the touching. Maybe Yasushi was using magic for that, too, the filthy cheater. “And don’t _pull_.” 

“Why are you still mouthy?” Yasushi growls, displeased. 

Kenji smirks. 

So, Yasushi pulls on one of his tails. 

So, _of course_ , because things _always_  escalate with them, Kenji curses him. 

It's half an accident, if he were completely honest with himself. He _had_ honestly liked everything until that point, and _maybe_  could have forgiven a single tail pull, perhaps. From a logical standpoint. But kitsune had their pride, and unfortunately they had their magic, and, most unfortunate of all, it was rather reflexive. 

Kenji sulks in the tub by himself, washing the blood out of the fur on his tails, while Yasushi swore and runs his hands under cold water from the sink. 

Mood, ruined. Again. 


	69. daisuga: the dinner party one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: t for thirst  
> summary: They really should be getting ready for that dinner with the tengu.

Koushi, as literally always, is lovely. He is a vision in all that he does; Daichi will never, ever tire of looking at him. The endearingly messy waves of his starlight hair, the cinnamon of his eyes, the beautiful mole right near the corner of one. The way he smiles at anything and everything, with his annoyingly perfect teeth and even worse dimples, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes which are turning into permanent early crow’s feet, the way he calls Daichi’s name. 

Even right now: slouched horrendously in the armchair, dressed in ratty old joggers and his ‘Thick Thighs Save Lives’ t-shirt (likewise wrinkled and possibly bloodstained), barefoot and rumpled and scowling down at a yellow-paged book like it offended his entire family. For some reason, he has Daichi’s reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, despite his perfect vision. 

Daichi has to take a moment at _that_  sight. Maybe glasses are a bit much for one of Koushi’s power. 

He’s amazing. 

He’s also _not at all_  ready for the dinner they’re supposed to be going to tonight. 

“Suga,” Daichi calls, and Koushi startles at the sound. His (Daichi’s) glasses nearly fall off his nose. “C’mon, it’s past five. We have to leave soon.” 

“It’s - what - _shit_.” Koushi slams the book shut with more venom than necessary, and jumps to his feet - and takes a long, _hard_  look at Daichi. Daichi can see the way he swallows. “You’re…” 

“Almost ready, yes,” Daichi says smugly. 

Koushi’s eyes go up and down. “You’re,” he croaks again, and follows up with nothing else. 

“Yes. _Almost_  ready. I need your help with the, uh, garter belt, though,” Daichi tells him, embarrassed for the first time. Which is probably a fucking feat, considering he’s standing in front of Koushi in a skirt and _fishnets_. Which aren’t up past his knees, since he actually can’t get them up around his thighs without help, and he certainly can’t do a garter belt without help. 

Koushi, very slowly, _rewardingly_ , goes red. He swallows again. “Uh. Y-Yeah. I can help you with that.” 

“You get dressed first,” Daichi sighs, “and I’ll fight with these things a bit longer.” 

Thank god he’d already showered, because they don’t have much time, not if they both have to get appropriately gussied up for some kind of inter-realm dinner party. All Daichi knows is that Koushi can’t refuse Akaashi because of politics, and they have to show Tooru and Hajime up _for some reason_ , and Daichi can’t back out as Koushi’s plus one without undue retribution. So, they’re dressing to blend in with tengu society. 

Apparently, the skirt thing is mostly just for tengu - they prefer human guests to have their legs covered in some manner, even if just for show. Hence, fishnets. He’d torn the first two pairs of stockings he’d tried to wear, but fishnets had just enough give that they didn’t immediately disintegrate upon contact with his legs. 

But Koushi wants to be number one, and what Koushi wants, Koushi gets. Even if it involves skirts. Daichi had worn them before - hard not to, with the people in his life he has now - but this is the first time to a _dinner_. The fishnets are new, too, as is the garter belt. He likes the way Koushi looked at him, and Koushi (and Tooru) had sworn up and down that tengu wouldn’t understand the scandalous implications of fishnets, and Daichi had never stood a chance. 

Daichi heads back into the bedroom to perch on the bed and struggle with the stockings again. He can’t just pull, they’re admirably strong but not impervious to tears, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with anything else tonight. These had already been a Struggle. 

He’s managed to edge one fishnet up over his thigh and clip the front clip on - maybe not the most securely - by the time Koushi comes in. His hair has been brushed out into soft, fluffy waves, pinned back from his face with bobby pins. He hasn’t put on any makeup yet (Daichi doesn’t know how deep this rabbit hole goes just yet), but he’s dressed in a cozy, thick, cream sweater and a pale blue maxi skirt with a slit up the side. Daichi thinks he’s seen him in the outfit before. It’s conservative - far more than Daichi feels he is, even if he’s in a knee-length skirt and a long-sleeved button-up. Black and maroon, safe colors on him. 

“You’re going to kill me tonight,” Koushi announces with a crooked grin. Daichi swears he learned it from Kuroo. _Somehow_. “That also seems pretty precarious. Still need a hand?” 

“Definitely,” Daichi replies, relieved. 

But despite his desire for help, he is not prepared for Koushi sinking to his knees between his legs. He spreads them apart a bit more to give him room, and damn the heat he can feel crawling up into his cheeks. Koushi isn’t even looking up at him. “Leg up,” Koushi says evenly and moves Daichi’s leg for him, since he seems suspiciously leaden all of a sudden. 

So Koushi is between Daichi’s spread legs, one knee held up to his chest, and he’s not even really looking up Daichi’s skirt. 

This is a lot to deal with before dinner.

Koushi reaches around his hip to free the other strap of the garter belt, and hardly even touches Daichi’s skin as he efficiently clips it onto the top of the fishnets. He does the front one with a slight tremble in his hands; Daichi feels it when Koushi places his palms against the inside of his thigh. He’s warm, and the contrast of skin on skin and the press of the thick threads of the fishnet is novel. Thrilling, in a way Daichi doesn’t care to parse out right now. Maybe ever. 

Neither say anything. 

Koushi slowly moves to his other leg, and Daichi lowers the first one. Koushi pushes at his thigh again, but this time his fingers press in, deep, gripping the muscle. He pushes Daichi’s leg up as high as it will go, and doesn’t move for the garter clip - Koushi places a soft, sweet kiss against the softest part of his inner thigh. 

Daichi holds his breath, or maybe he’s lost the ability to breathe entirely. This isn’t even that much, not yet, but the atmosphere is too charged, and Koushi _still_  hasn’t looked up at him, and somehow that adds to it. It’s intimate, but not in the way they normally are. 

Koushi presses closed-mouth kisses along the inside of his thigh and trails a gradual line down toward his knee. He even kisses over the top hem of the fishnets. He hooks his thumb in between a few of the criss-crossed threads, but only snaps it lightly against Daichi, not really bothering to help him pull it up. 

“We’re going to be late for dinner.” 

It takes him a long moment for Daichi to realize that it’s not some grounded, mature part of him that forced the words out. Certainly he wouldn’t be that self-sabotaging, for he is enjoying this view _way too fucking much_. Koushi’s breath ghosts warm over his tingling, sensitive skin, and he finally begins pulling up the stocking. His movements are steady, but measured. Daichi tries to relax his leg, as much as he can, so Koushi can pull the already-taut fabric as snug and as high as it’ll go. 

“You’re about to rip this,” Koushi notes, a near-whisper, amused and sly. He presses against part of the fishnet that Daichi can’t see, near the top but on the back of his leg. 

“I’ve already ruined a few pairs.” 

Koushi’s eyes snap up to him, glittering and wild. Daichi’s breath catches again. 

“Do I get to see them?” Koushi asks with an innocent bat of his eyelashes. 

“Not right now,” Daichi says, because dinner, _dinner plans_. Koushi’s stupid escalation bullshit with Tooru. Impressing the tengu (or at least not aggravating them further). They’d already gotten ready, so it’s such a waste to throw it all away, right? 

Koushi clucks his tongue and snaps on the back garter clip onto the top hem of the fishnet. His hands are still so warm as he runs them around the width of Daichi’s leg, edging up further, beneath the rumpled hem of his skirt and further still. Daichi watches Koushi’s hands disappear beneath the fabric; Koushi watches Daichi’s face, closely, like he’s one of Daichi’s research materials. 

Maybe he doesn’t see what he wants, or maybe Koushi never meant for this to go further - fucking tease - but he runs his hands back down Daichi’s thigh to clip the last piece of the garter on. 

“Done,” Koushi chirps. 

He does not move his hands from Daichi, nor get up off the floor in front of him. 

 _He needs to finish his hair, or do whatever with his face_ , Daichi distantly thinks. His mouth is dry as he stares down at the image of Koushi kneeling between his stockinged, gartered legs. His skirt is still rucked up a bit on one side, revealing quite a bit of skin. Koushi meets his eyes, hands drawing small, firm circles against him. _We’re going to be late_. 

He means to say the last part aloud, probably. He _should_. Koushi should also remember their obligations, since they were his in the first place. 

But between the two of them, Koushi is also the impulsive one ninety percent of the time. 

Daichi isn’t sure if this falls into the last ten percent, however, as he shifts his leg so the skirt falls a bit higher up. Koushi breaks their staring contest, drawn to the movement, to the skin and stocking. 

They haven’t even done anything - haven’t even kissed properly - and Daichi is getting hard and he’s not sure how much the skirt will hide that. If at all. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle _that_  sight, either. He’s never even seen Koushi aroused in a skirt before. 

Goddamnit, he’s discovering another kink, isn’t he. 

“Akaashi will understand,” Koushi says before bringing his mouth to Daichi’s thigh once more. It’s final. Daichi gladly relinquishes that last bit of feigned responsibility. 

(They don’t make it to dinner at all.) 


	70. kuroken: the routine one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: kuroken   
> rating: pg for preposterously gentle  
> summary: Tetsurou is used to the domestic routines in his life.

Kenma couldn’t really be called ‘awake’ just yet. The morning is still grey and drab, full of fog and dew, like the day is still in the same semi-conscious state the little witch is in. 

Tetsurou has a lot of fondness for the quiet parts of the morning. There’s a ritual to it all, full of softness and silence, all of it drenched in familiarity. He’s never been able to replicate this kind of feeling with either of the tengu, not like this, not in the cottony parts of the morning, but that’s alright. Tetsurou hoards these mornings like precious gems. 

Kenma gets out of bed usually on his own (usually spurred on by Midna), but that’s about as much as he’ll do without further provocation. Tetsurou likes to think that the cat is on his side; she’s already been fed by the time she drags Kenma out of bed, so there’s no real reason except to get him upright and out in the kitchen. 

Tetsurou slides a bowl of fruit loops across the table as Kenma sits down. His eyes are still scrunched shut, nose a bit scrunched too, like the entire idea of consciousness still offends his dreaming mind. Kenma pours milk into his cereal with magic so he doesn’t have to move more than he must. It’s always best to give him a bit of sugar in the mornings, to help kickstart the waking process, Tetsurou has found. Cereal works as well as pancakes, if a little less fun to prepare. 

Tetsurou sets his chin in his hands and happily watches Kenma try to feed himself. He himself isn’t hungry yet; he usually doesn’t eat until whenever lunch is, as much as that varies; Tetsurou has his own routines, and he prefers them that way, despite Keiji’s occasional nagging. 

Kenma isn’t much more conscious by the time he’s worked through most of his breakfast. Tetsurou can only see a sliver of eye peer up at him, like he’s checking to make sure he’s present, before Kenma turns away again. His hair hasn’t quite grown out again, but it’s long enough to hide his eyes when he wants. 

(Not right now, though. It’s still unruly from bed - and the night before - and Kenma hasn’t bothered to brush it yet. For everyone who says _Tetsurou’s_  hair is a mess, he’d like to point them to Kenma some time.) 

Kenma curls up on the couch, using Tetsurou as a pillow, and they both check the news and cat apps and email on Kenma’s phone. Tetsurou feeds the Neko Atsume cats for him, Kenma scrolls through news sites and taps out the accurate ones, and Kenma has dozed off again by the time Tetsurou is invested in a feel-good story about big cat cubs in an overseas zoo. The grey of the morning has turned to silver, then to bright pink and blue as the sun is well up over the horizon, but neither stir just yet. There’s no need yet. 

Midna, yet again, is the one to decide Kenma’s schedule. She jumps down onto his stomach from the back of the couch with little remorse, making him _oof_  and hiss in pain. She meows directly in his face. 

“I think she says it’s morning time,” Tetsurou says quietly, not wanting to break the morning’s peace. 

“She kept me up last night,” Kenma petulantly replies, “so I’m still tired. Brat.” 

Midna meows again, then headbutts him, purring loudly. Tetsurou can’t help but chuckle. “It’s not her fault it stormed.” 

“How did I end up with _two_  babies about loud noises?” 

“Hey, I’m good with thunder!” 

“You’re both still bad with fireworks and gunshots.” 

Tetsurou hums and doesn’t reply; Kenma certainly doesn’t push the issue. He’s never judged Tetsurou for that kind of thing, but neither will he shy from the topic, and it comes up from time to time without warning, like now. He doesn’t like to think about it. 

“Sorry,” Kenma murmurs. From this angle, Tetsurou can’t see his eyes, but his mouth has a hint of a frown in the corners. 

“You’re fine, you’re just cranky because your sleep was interrupted by a ball of fur and claws. Do I need to dress you too?” he coos. Kenma’s mouth immediately twists down into a scowl, but as he shifts around so he can glare up at Tetsurou, he knows the heavy bit has passed. 

They may be into the talking portion of the morning, but it’s still soft at the edges. 

They continue through their routine - Tetsurou does, Kenma goes along like a limp noodle. Speech doesn’t always equal ready for the day, and since there isn’t much on the plate for today, Tetsurou lets it slide. He kind of wishes his lazy days corresponded to Kenma’s, though. It’d be nice to lay around in bed and cuddle for an extra few hours, groggy and warm and extra affectionate. 

Eventually, Tetsurou drags Kenma into something close to clothing. He still doesn’t _really_  see the difference between sweatpants and pajama pants, but he trusts Kenma’s preference, and he himself likes wearing soft pants out and about, too. They haven’t been able to find a size that perfectly fits both his hips and his long legs, but they’re trying, and Tetsurou doesn’t matter the exposed ankles when it’s warm out. 

It’s well past noon when they manage to leave. Kenma has pulled on that ridiculous hoodie with the pouch on the front that Tadashi had gotten him (as a joke, Tetsurou thinks, but he’d also given one to Suga, so maybe not) and Midna eagerly clambers in. It’s not as kangaroo-ish as Kei claims, but it’s still an overwhelmingly adorable sight. Kenma’s phone is full of pictures like this. 

(Midna goes along with it because she doesn’t have to wear her harness if she stays in the pocket. Tetsurou doesn’t understand the connection between witch and familiar, but it results in a spectacularly well-trained animal, he’ll give them that.) 

They walk instead of taking a broom or trying to squish onto the train. This way takes them through the shopping district, so while Tetsurou doesn’t know what’s on the list of today’s errands, he can guess. He window shops as they make their way toward the bookstore. 

Tetsurou considers it a bad omen when they find the part timers standing _outside_  the store. 

Tadashi isn’t on shift, apparently, but Kei is, and his mood doesn’t seem to approve when he spots them. Not that that’s all that surprising or indicative of what’s going on inside, since that’s his default expression (disdain), but the others are worrisome. “Is Tadashi not here today?” Kenma asks as soon as they’re near enough. Midna pops her head out of the top of the pocket and the tall redheaded guy - Tetsurou thinks his name is Inuoka, or something, all he knows is that he’s the guy Tadashi accidentally turned into a werewolf - coos at her. She lays her ears flat and glares at him. 

“He caught something, I guess?” the werewolf guy volunteers after a cheery little wave. “Tsukki’s filling in for him!” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I borrowed a book from Sugawara from him. Can you return it?” Kenma asks. 

“Ah, Sugawara is actually…” Werepuppy makes a complicated hand gesture, seeming embarrassed, and Kei’s mood doesn’t improve, either. 

“What trouble has he started now?” Tetsurou asks with a dramatic sigh. Kenma inclines his head toward the store, and Tetsurou steps around him to investigate in his stead. 

Inside, he is surprised to see Suga here again. But more surprising than that is that that his beau is nowhere to be found. Yukie glances over to him, three sticks of pocky stuck in her mouth, and otherwise dismisses him. “Kuroo!” Suga calls as soon as he spots him, meaning Tetsurou can’t just back out of the store again. “Alright, you’re a neutral enough party. Settle something for us!” 

Yukie slurps down the pocky like they’re noodles. He doesn’t want to know how. “He’s not exactly a neutral party,” she points out. 

“We can’t use _your_  coworkers, they’re too biased.” 

“What about the little witch who summoned him? He doesn’t like you.” 

“Now you’re just being rude,” Suga pouts. With a gesture and a running leap, he clambers up onto one of the bookshelves, peering over into the next aisle over. 

 _Something_  breathes a jet of fire back at him. 

“What the hell are you two up to in here?” Tetsurou groans. 

Yukie swipes the pomegranate smoothie off of the countertop and slurps it loudly as she sidles around to stand at his side. Suga spares them both a particularly dirty look. “So, there’s like, a thing here, and Koushi thinks he gets rights to it? Even though it’s not _his_  store and it’s _my_  job to eat trespassing creatures.” 

“Iwaizumi told me that Tooru told him that Kyoutani is missing a wrymling from his clinic. I’m not about to let her eat someone’s pet!” 

“That’s quite the chain of events,” Tetsurou remarks. 

“Also, it’s totally not a wyrmling,” Yukie adds with another slurp. 

“I think I know a wyrmling when I see one.” 

“It’s some kind of feral salamander.” 

“It’s definitely a wyrmling!” 

“It doesn’t have wings.” 

“You can _see_  the wing joints, it’s just missing them right now. I think I know what amputated wings look like,” Suga exclaims, exasperated, and peeks down into the aisle again. More fire. 

“So you want me to guess at what this thing is?” Tetsurou asks, definitely not here for this kind of bickering. 

“No, you need to decide who gets it! Do you want me to return this to some poor soul who lost their pet?” Suga demands. 

“It’s setting the store on fire,” Yukie retorts. She finishes the smoothie with one last, extra loud slurp. (Tetsurou kind of wonders if hunger spirits are immune to things like brain freeze.) “Daichi would be _ma-aa-ad_ ,” she sings, taunting. 

Suga gives her a baleful, kicked puppy look. 

“Let’s see what this thing is,” Tetsurou breaks in, and he and Yukie sidle around bookshelves until he sees a squat, fat little reptile _thing_  sitting in the middle of the aisle, happily gnawing on a selection of burnt romance novels. 

Tetsurou has never seen a salamander before, and he’d only seen a wyrmling once, years ago. 

“No clue, guys.” 

Both Suga and Yukie groan. 

“But I can help you catch it. I feel kinda bad for the books,” he adds. 

It takes an ingenious (read: ridiculous) mixture of sleep soot (who knew that shit was flammable?), levitation, _another_  smoothie, Suga’s coat, and Yukie’s stockings to tie it off before the thing is angrily swaddled and definitely doused. It squirms and squeaks wetly, looking particularly sorry for itself, if such mystery creatures are capable of that kind of thing. 

And, because he’s good-hearted but stupid, Tetsurou stashes the thing under one arm and announced, “Alright, I’ll be taking this, then!” 

“Huh?” 

“We have to stop by the clinic later for Midna, so I can see if this little thing is the missing pet.” 

“You just want to eat it yourself,” Yukie accuses with narrowed eyes. Even Suga looks like he agrees. 

“That’s rude. I would never eat something that has the possibility of burning me from the inside-out.” If it’s not the pet, though, he thinks he may give it to Kei. He may have mellowed out on the spiritual diet front, but Tetsurou still feels the need to feed him whenever they see each other. 

Not that they need to know he’s sniping this for such a reason. 

“I’ll be calling Tooru later to check on that,” Suga says, relenting with a scowl. 

“You do that. Oh - but Kenma has a book to return to you. We borrowed it from Tadashi awhile back.” 

Suga trails him out of the store, to Yukie’s irritation. The part timers take in their sooty appearances and the angry reptile under Tetsurou’s arm, but none of them comment; with a shooing motion, they scurry back into the store to hopefully fix things before a less lax manager comes in to see the mess. 

Kenma’s eyes fix onto the mystery creature. To Tetsurou’s disappointment, he doesn’t immediately identify it, or even comment on it. Instead, he holds out a battered old notebook in Suga’s direction. 

“That little shit! I didn’t even know he had this!” Suga exclaims, affronted, and clutches at the notebook like he’s being reunited with something particularly valuable. It hadn’t even been that useful of a book. Kenma doesn’t comment, so neither does Tetsurou, though he does shift the angry little creature away from Kenma and Midna, just in case it decides to start spitting fire again. 

After Suga leaves, and Kenma drags Tetsurou away from the bookstore before _more_  can happen, Kenma quietly says, “You get into trouble a lot.” 

“Nah, this is just another regular day.” 

“Not really.” 

“Sleepy morning, extra cuddles, running errands with a cat and running into magical mayhem? Yeah, it’s a normal day.” 

“We have _other_ , more normal days.” 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.” 

Tetsurou grins, and tries not to laugh at Kenma’s face when he realizes they’ve lapsed into another one of their little arguments. He always does the scrunchy nose thing when he does. “We can try again tomorrow for a ‘normal’ day, whatever that means.” 

“…Kay,” Kenma sighs, and reaches over to grab Tetsurou’s free hand. “Tomorrow, then.” 


	71. yamaguchi: the card one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: implied yamatsukki & iwaoi  
> rating: t for some tsalty language  
> summary: Tooru wants Tadashi to do a job for him, so Tadashi does a job for him. Because he's Suga's protege.

“I just don’t know what it could _be_! Not even Iwa-chan knows!” Tooru whines like a five-year-old denied candy. It’s terrifying on a grown man, especially one who is trying _very hard_  to drape himself over Tadashi’s lap. 

“I have no idea how Suga took care of you all those years,” Tadashi informs him. 

“Neither do I,” Hajime grunts. 

“You’re supposed to be Koushi’s protege, that means you take over his cleaning duties!” Tooru worms his way, more ferociously than ever, between Tadashi’s thighs and the book he’s _trying_  to read. 

Kei, from across the store, ignores them in a way that can only be described as _furiously_. 

All Tadashi needs is a pomegranate smoothie and a clear view of Kei’s ass and he really would be Suga’s protege. 

Hajime turns a page in the huge animal encyclopedia he’s been sighing over. “He’s being a jackass about it because he misses Suga, but he’s right - there’s something and we don’t know what it is.” 

“And Kentarou and Yahaba can’t take care of it because…?” 

“Because it’s not a ghost, at least not one that’s fully present. We need some kind of seance or reading done to try to figure out what it _is_ , first. Not exactly the job for an inugami.” 

Tadashi sighs and closes his book. One of Tooru’s feet is still planted flat on the ground to balance himself, but the other leg is stuck up like a convoluted ballerina’s. He wishes he had the leverage to shove him off. “Fine, we’ll check it out for you. But we’re waiting until Tsukki’s free, and you’re paying _both_  of us.” 

“Deal!” Tooru says at once. He straightens with impossible grace and dignity, and even goes as far as to card his fingers through his bangs to _somehow_  perfectly straighten him. Tadashi, not for the first (or the last) time, wonders if this man is somehow secretly magical. 

 

–-

 

“I’m going to do a reading in order to try to divine what we’re dealing with. It’s a hell of a lot easier and safer than trying a seance,” Tadashi announces as he sets his bag on the table. He catches Kei’s eye, nods at him as he leaves, and draws Tooru’s attention once more. “I’m going to need all the information about this thing.” 

“That’s just it. We have very little,” Tooru replies. He’s remarkably more composed when he’s alone, or maybe because he thinks he has nothing else he wants from Tadashi from the time being. “Neither of us can see it, and dreamwalking doesn’t help, either. I picked it up from a client’s mind a few weeks ago, thinking it was some kind of poltergeist, but it’s not.” 

“What’s the bother if it’s not present in this realm?” Tadashi asks flatly. 

“It’s still bothering people, and Miyanoshita says it’s been trying to eat dreams, too,” Hajime answers and crosses his arms, like he’s daring Tadashi to try to back out of helping. “Excuse us for being worried about something that wants to try to cross over into our plane.” 

“Fine, let’s try to figure out what this is.” It’s not like he would’ve ditched them; he doesn’t care for the suspicious act. He knows it’s Hajime’s life goal to be as paranoid as Akaashi, but Tadashi isn’t _that_  likely to roll his eyes on his way out the door. Probably. 

Kei accidentally ate the charm on his messenger bag again, so when Tadashi dumps it out over the table, it’s just the regular contents from a regular bag. (Some time, however, he _would_  like to see how much he could dump out from a pocket dimension; he doesn’t understand the gravity issue.) One of his long candles breaks, but it’s no real matter. He just needs one. 

Tadashi lights it with a flick of cat fire from his finger, and clears enough space in front of him to draw out his deck of cards. Tooru helpfully moves a couple of small jars out of the way as well. The candle’s light flickers in his eyes, which are wide with excitement. 

Tadashi remembers, belatedly, that there were _many_  reasons Suga hadn’t allowed Tooru along on jobs, only a small part of which had been his general uselessness in fights. 

His nose immediately wrinkles and his mouth pulls down into an unattractive frown when he sees the twin spreads of black and white cards before Tadashi. “Those aren’t tarot.” 

“Please don’t touch my cards,” Tadashi reminds him and Tooru draws back before he can. 

Calmly and perfectly straight-faced, Tadashi flips over a black card. It reads ‘ _It lurks in the night. It hungers for flesh. This summer, no one is safe from _______.’ 

He only manages to maintain his impassive expression through sheer luck. 

Tooru stares at the card, then up at Tadashi, then back down to the card again. Hajime is just a little too far to read the cards easily, but he frowns and squints, trying anyway. Or can he read them? Tadashi knows his senses are a little better than a human’s, come to think… 

Tadashi slides it down and draws another black card exactly in the same manner he’d draw a card from a tarot spread. It reads ‘ _______. Awesome in theory, kind of a mess in practice._ ’ and Tadashi nods like he’d foreseen this all along. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Tooru finally snaps with a slam of his fist on the table. The candle wobbles dangerously and Tadashi barely catches it in time. 

“Trying to figure out what you stuck me with,” Tadashi replies with his own stern frown. He’d learned it from Suga. Predictably, Tooru is weak to it, and the psychic backs off with narrowed eyes. 

“These aren’t tarot cards, Tadashi. You’re bullshitting.” 

“Let the _professional you hired_  finish his reading, please,” Tadashi politely requests, and after making sure Tooru won’t disturb his peace again, he pushes the black cards to the side. His hands hover over the white cards, feeling out which is best. With his eyes nearly closed, he swiftly draws three, two on one side and one from the middle, and puts them next to the black cards without looking at them. He moves the rest of the unused white cards to the side, too. 

He flips them over, one by one, and thumbs at his chin like he’s _deep_  in concentration. 

‘ _Finding a skeleton.’_

_‘Ambiguous sarcasm.’_

_‘That ass.’  
_

“Hmm,” Tadashi hums and the candle flickers appropriately. 

“What the _fuck_  are those cards?” Hajime asks with a poorly hidden laugh. Tadashi rather appreciates the fact that he was _apparently_  okay with this up until this point. 

“I never said I’d do a tarot reading. I’ve only done about three, ever? And Suga helped me with two of them. So I figure it wouldn’t get me very far if I have to spend an hour looking up card meanings,” Tadashi replies with an innocent little shrug. “I can teach you how to use these later.” 

“Iwa-chan isn’t ready for _that_  kind of human interaction yet.” 

“Oi, I can hear you, and I’ve been here for _how long_  now?” 

“Not long enough,” Tooru retorts, then makes another grab for Tadashi’s cards. He holds him back with a hand on his face, and they end up slapping and smacking each other like toddlers. The candle gets knocked over, and extinguished before any of Tadashi’s cards can go up in flames. “You’re bullshitting and making fun of the job!” 

“It’s a wraith!” Tadashi growls around Tooru’s fingers in his mouth. He tries to bite down, but Hajime pulls him back by the scruff of the neck before blood can be shed. 

“How do you know that?” Hajime asks, scanning over all five of the drawn cards, brows furrowed deeply but mouth quirked up at one corner. 

“The cards told me,” Tadashi grandly replies, complete with a sweeping gesture. 

“You’re not good enough to hide that lie from me!” Tooru exclaims. 

“Alright, I figured it out when you said it wasn’t fully present here. Tsukki’s been upstairs drawing it out and probably eating it while we did this. He should be about done now.” Tadashi isn’t _too_  upset at losing out on his game, but god, it’d been funny while it lasted. “Job completed, pay us now, please.”

And he has to admit, the cards hadn’t been half-bad, either. Maybe there was a bit of magic behind it. 

 _That’s_  a scary thought. 

“You’re a little brat,” Tooru forces out between clenched teeth. 

Still chuckling, Hajime claps Tooru on the back and fondly reminds him, “You _did_  call him Suga’s protege.” 


	72. daisuga: the tentacle one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing: daisuga  
> rating: e  
> summary: He’s expecting tentacles.
> 
> He got tentacles.

Daichi knows enough about magic to know that angels and demons don’t mix.

He also knows, in order: his boyfriend is kinda sorta partially angelic and not in the sense that he’s pretty or sweet, Suga has a really fucking weird job, and that this particular job involves a love spirit.

Daichi also knows that typed spirits tend to be annoying to take care of, _and_ that the last love spirit incident had involved French maids and high heels.

This one doesn’t, sadly.

This one just involves Suga begging in that pretty, saccharine voice that _doesn’t_ work on Daichi, and batting those big doe eyes that _do_ work on Daichi, that he needs help with something. No, he can’t ask Tadashi, because Tadashi is too young to be dealing with love spirits. Yes, he needs help, because someone got the bright idea to try to make a chimera out of a ghost. No, he can’t ask Kei, because that’s unfair to him to bring up a love spirit/demon hybrid when he’s still sorting out his own shit. No, he absolutely will not ask Tooru or Iwaizumi. That’s just a no.

Daichi says yes.

Daichi says yes because Suga coyly informs him that it could get _spicy_ , and he’d feel better with Daichi around, and honestly, he doesn’t know why he’s falling for any of this. They’re past the point that they have to dance around subjects. If Suga needs help with something, then he needs help, and Daichi will do it if he can.

Suga had explained, in _explicit_ and great detail, what exactly they would be dealing with. Love spirits can give you a contact high, plus create concentrated aphrodisiacs, though he doubts this chimera could do much on that front. Demons can only have settled forms with time and practice, something Daichi has rather taken for granted in the cases of dealing with Kuroo, so there would probably be creative definitions of the term ‘limb’.

He’s expecting tentacles.

He got tentacles.

“We have to subdue it, not kill it,” Suga reminds him when Daichi reaches for his dogtags. “We’re getting paid to _return_ this pet, not smear it on the ground.” Which is why Suga needed help at all.

Daichi takes one last steeling breath to remind himself that he’s about to try to seduce what looks, for all intents and purposes, like a be-tentacle’d pink blob. He doesn’t want to think about why someone created this. He doesn’t want to think about someone _keeping_ this.

Suga, of course, doesn’t bat an eye, because Suga isn’t fazed by anything short of the apocalypse anymore and Suga also tends to forget that Daichi isn’t as into the magical community as he is. Suga disrobes, folding his coat neatly, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Suga,” Daichi says, eyes on the wriggling mass before them, “you’re sure this isn’t going to go somewhere weird, right?”

“It’s going somewhere weird, Daichi,” Suga deadpans.

“I mean—we’re not in danger, are we?”

“It’s part love spirit, which are harmless themselves and get off on others getting off, and part demon. It’s not an incubus or succubus. It doesn’t even have a mouth.”

Daichi thinks of Harlan Ellison as he pulls off his own coat. Maybe he should have taken Suga up on the blindfold offer. “And, just as a point of curiosity, what if certain parties can’t get it up in front of the tentacle jello mold?”

Suga rolls his eyes, but fondly, and that reassures Daichi on some level that must be a cosmic joke. Suga strides over to the beast—it’s about waist-high and despite having no visible eyes, it very _clearly_ recoils from his approach—and grabs one of the tentacles.

Suga pets over it a few times, as if to reassure it of his intentions, and while it still quivers in fear before him, it also melts a little, too. It makes a sound that Daichi would certainly call a purr, and he hates himself for it.

Faster than Daichi would expect, another one of the tentacles whips around and curls itself around Suga’s thigh. He stumbles, forward, and it catches him with another. “Not exactly shy, are you?” Suga asks, and it wiggles happily.

And then tries to shove a tentacle in his mouth.

Suga splutters and grabs it, reeling back with a wet gasp, and Daichi can’t help but stare when he sees all the faintly pink and shining _slickness_ smeared around Suga’s mouth. He licks it off his lips with the air of a very solemn researcher. “It’s supposed to taste like whatever you like. Daichi, come try this!”

And he waves the tentacle and splatters more of that pinkish goop over his face and neck.

“You’re going to stain your clothes,” Daichi points out, rooted to the spot.

“Help me take this off,” Suga coos, and Daichi has _never_ seen buttons come undone so fast before. It’s a minor miracle nothing rips. Suga shrugs out of his shirt, and the tentacles greedily slide up his legs next, smearing over dark denim and cupping his crotch. “It’s really well-behaved. Is this how you want to do it?”

Suga had given Daichi two options: Suga distracts it, probably winds up in a puddle of his own juices somewhere, and Daichi herds the thing into their pen. Or, Daichi and Suga _team up_ , and they both grab it after it’s exhausted, presumably because together they’ll still be able to move. Divide its attention, supposedly. Suga hadn’t pressured Daichi either way, and had made sure this job was alright with him to begin with, but Daichi hadn’t given him an answer yet.

The air smells sickly sweet and he is morbidly fascinated by Suga covered in that shiny goop.

It’d be smarter to have Suga in working order, in case Daichi needs help, right?

“Oh, it wasn’t supposed to be able to cast thralls,” Suga pouts. The nearest tentacle again tries to insert itself into his mouth, and he bats it away. It recoils with an unmistakable whine. He grabs it again, and soothes over it, like he’s petting a small animal or something.

Then, he shifts his hand, and it’s less petting and more _stroking_.

Suga keeps an eye on Daichi—trying very hard to seem like he’s _not_ , which kind of makes it cuter—and casually jacks off the tentacle in his grip. His hand is covered and _dripping_ with slickness, running down his wrist, and the tentacles around his thighs rub eagerly against him. “Pants off, these are getting tight,” he politely tells it, and he’s hardly done with the sentence before it’s deftly unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down. Suga stumbles forward, and this time it doesn’t catch him.

He faceplants directly into the monster of the day’s pulsating body.

Suga rears back with a wet gasp, _covered_ in that shining liquid, up into his hair and down his exposed thighs. He wipes frantically at his face, smearing it away from his mouth and eyes, and tries to stumble back. Daichi catches him, and the tentacle beast politely removes Suga’s pants from around his ankles.

Suga is a _little_ more immune to it than Daichi should be, but that’s pushing it. “Well, shit,” Suga slurs, and his raspy voice goes straight to Daichi’s growing arousal. “‘Kay, I’m… I’m a lost cause now…” Suga turns his head, nosing shamelessly at Daichi’s neck, otherwise limp in his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“ _Juuuust_ fine,” Suga tells him. He sounds drunk. Daichi supposes it could be similar, though drunk Suga is usually sleepier and more prone to absolutely adorable secret-spilling. (Maybe he should get his hopes up.) “It tastes like cinnamon, Daichi. And you smell so _fucking_ good.”

“That’s because you made me wear cologne on a monster-hunting job,” Daichi replies, somehow sounding far more composed than he feels. His eyes remain on Suga’s desperately tented briefs.

“I like the way you smell,” Suga tells him like this is a secret.

Daichi follows the way a tentacle winds its way up Suga’s leg, leaving a trail of pinkish slickness as it goes. It’s halfway up his thigh when Suga cants his hips upward, seeking its touch.

The Daichi Stays Out Of The Action plan largely hinged upon Daichi staying far enough away to avoid the worst of any weird sex pollen shit and allowing Suga to, as it were, act as distraction. Daichi is already pretty sure he has a buzz, or whatever the terminology is. He is _definitely_ hard, and his nose burns a little from the sweet smell in the air.

He’s kind of curious what it tastes like for him.

“Join me?” Suga purrs against his throat.

Daichi wants to. So he does.

Still bracing Suga upright, he reaches out with one hand, and a tentacle eagerly reaches back. It’s cooler to the touch than he expects, and the slickness has about the same consistency of lube, though no surprise there. “Are we _supposed_ to use this as lube?” he can’t help but ask.

Suga laughs like a drunk sack of potatoes. Daichi doesn’t know how the simile works, but it does, because Daichi is going to cut himself some slack with his remaining sobriety. “Y’know how, in college, you hear about dumb guys doing shit like putting booze up their asses to get drunk?”

“What the fuck kind of college experience did _you_ have?!”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Suga tells him and pats at his chest. “You should take your shirt off.”

“Why are people putting alcohol up their asses, Suga?” Daichi asks, only halfway distracted by the tentacle monster shuffling closer with gross _squelching_ noises.

“It bypasses the liver, and you get drunk, like, instantly. You also get alcohol poisoning and die, like, instantly.”

Daichi has forgotten why they’re talking about this. He’s mesmerized by the wet slide of the tentacle’s tip between his fingers. It’s a little softer than a dick, but harder than silicone, and the way it _moves_. No wonder Suga had been so enraptured.

“If you put this up your ass, you’re gonna be high and horny into next week,” Suga tells him and pats his chest again. He adds something else, about most love spirits not making this kind of shit, or something; Suga trails off just before Daichi’s attention does, and they both end up watching the way Daichi grasps the tentacle and allows it to thrust into his fist.

“It’s so…” Daichi doesn’t know how to finish it. His skin kind of tingles where it touches, but it’s _fun_ to touch. It feels so strong. It’s not quite as thick as he or Suga, but there are a couple of various other sizes, and who knows what else tentacle monsters can do.

Suga grabs another and slicks both his hands with it. “This could be some fun finger painting,” he says as he draws his fingers down his own chest.

“Fun couples bonding activity.”

“Isn’t it?!” Suga exclaims with delight.

He finally leans his weight up and off Daichi, though he is instantly supported again by a thicker tentacle wrapped around his waist. Another slides up to cup him through his briefs, and Suga groans, rocking shamelessly into it. Daichi steps forward, wraps his arms around Suga’s waist right above the tentacle, and hooks his chin over his shoulder so he can watch.

“Have it take that off for you,” Daichi whispers in Suga’s ear before biting down on the shell of it. Suga moans this time.

“Undress,” Suga orders, and the tentacle beast purrs even more loudly, eagerly complying.

More tentacles circle around him, however, and begin pushing at Daichi’s shirt. They have to separate to do so, and Suga turns, then sinks down to his knees. He reclines against the tentacle beast, legs cocked wide, and it trails the tips of many tentacles over his skin, drawing wet, gleaming lines Daichi wants to follow with his tongue.

He pulls his shirt over his head with help, and by then, it already has his pants around his thighs. Suga crooks a finger and Daichi steps out of his pants, and towards him. The tentacle chimera should be sated by an orgasm or two, feeding off of the sexual high as well as come, and Daichi is more than happy to help by this point.

Suga tilts his head up to Daichi and his mouth falls open, tongue out.

A tentacle beats Daichi anywhere, however, and Suga makes a startled noise as it finally gets what it wants. He doesn’t usually have much of a gag reflex; Daichi is both worried and shamefully turned on by the sound of Suga gagging, even if it’s not on his cock.

Suga pulls the tentacle out of his mouth, saliva and pinkish goop running down his chin, and sucks in a wet breath. “Are you okay?” Daichi asks, cupping his face, pushing his hair out from his eyes, checking him over for signs of actual distress.

“It tastes like a shot of fireball,” Suga tells him, high as a fucking kite by now. His eyes are blown huge, lidded, cheeks flushed a beautiful rosy color. Suga opens his mouth again, this time pulling his hand free from another tentacle in order to pull Daichi closer. “Let me taste _you_ next.”

Daichi wouldn’t want to disappoint, now would he. With more than a little help, he shimmies out of his pants and boxers, and Suga is leaning up and forward to mouth at his cock before Daichi can blink.

First: he notices _immediately_ the difference between feeling that weird slickness and Suga’s own spit. Second: it feels really fucking good. Third: Suga is in no mood to tease, licking over Daichi just a few times before guiding him down and swallowing around him.

Daichi groans and cards his fingers back through Suga’s sweaty, slick hair.

Several come up to try to push themselves into Daichi’s mouth, too, but he bats them away and they take the hint. He does get the pink shit smeared over his lips, however, and he can’t help but taste; it tastes like watermelon, light and fruity, and Daichi finds himself wanting _more_ just for the sheer novelty of it.

As if reading his mind, Suga pulls off his cock with a gasp and _yanks_ Daichi down to his level. Their teeth click when they first try to kiss, but Suga tilts his head to better accommodate, and then things even out. They kiss open-mouthed and sloppy and filthy. A tentacle runs over Suga’s cheek, and Daichi tastes watermelon again, and soon he tilts his head to chase _that_ instead.

Suga quickly grabs his jaw and shoves his fingers into Daichi’s mouth instead. Daichi groans and sucks on them, savoring the flavor, the press of Suga’s fingers against his tongue. At first, he thinks Suga is the one with his hand around his cock, too, but then Daichi realizes that Suga does not actually have that many hands.

Suga releases his jaw, and reaches down to the tentacle enveloping Daichi’s cock. Daichi groans, desperate, against his fingers. Arousal curls low in his belly, warring with the hot buzz of the chimera’s goop. He _wants_ to come, he wants to get rid of the strange feeling, but more than that he wants to _chase_ the feeling. He wants to get lost in it.

Suga, however, keeps Daichi grounded.

He pulls his fingers free of his mouth, trailing the wet digits down his chin and then his throat, and whispers against his mouth, “You’re going to come for me, Daichi. You’re going to be so fucking good for me, and I love you so fucking much. You’re doing so good, helping me with this.”

“Fuck,” Daichi pants against him. Suga winds him up better than any magical monster ever could. “Fuck, _Koushi_ ,” Daichi groans and his thrusts stutter into the matching grasps of the tentacle and Suga’s hand.

Suga surprises him and moans loudly against Daichi’s mouth, and comes into the grip of another tentacle. Come drips down around the tentacle, mixing prettily with the pink goop everywhere, and Suga gasps and keens as it keeps going. Daichi, enraptured, is blindsided by his own orgasm.

It isn’t exactly more intense than usual, but there’s something _desperate_ about the way he comes, like he’d die without it. It takes forever, a high, cresting wave of pleasure, and Suga kisses him through it even as his hand stills and the tentacle takes over.

By the time the tentacles are withdrawing, dripping white, Daichi has slumped forward into Suga’s arms, feeling rather numb.

“Thought sex demons were supposed to give you multiple rounds,” he mutters, sluggish, into Suga’s shoulder.

“It _will_ , but you can’t stand that,” Suga tells him, and rubs his back. “C’mon, up, you gotta get away from this before it takes it as an invitation.”

“What ‘bout you?” Daichi asks. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to move ever again.

“I got this. I’m a little sturdier than you, _and_ I’m not the one who always falls asleep after an orgasm.”

“No, you just fall asleep _during_.”

“I got this,” Suga repeats and kisses Daichi’s temple.

Despite the fact that he trips and faceplants onto the monster again in an effort to corral it properly, now that it’s sated and just as exhausted as they are, Suga successfully wins. He captures the tentacle monster, they’re going to get paid, and Daichi still believes his brain is oozing out of his ears.

They end up sleeping two hours in Daichi’s car until the monster’s owner swings by to pick it up, has mercy on them, and gets them an uber home.

When Tooru checks them over the next day, he can’t breathe for how hard he’s laughing, but they get the prognosis anyway: they’ll both be high and _painfully_ horny for another twelve hours at least. But they got paid handsomely, both of them have the day off, and Suga keeps eyeing Tooru’s couch like he’s about to mount Daichi on top of it. Tooru quickly sends them home. Daichi would have paid a significant amount of money to know Suga’s exact thought process, potentially as inspiration for later that night.

After washing _thoroughly_ , and nearly fucking in the shower, they end up breaking their own marathon sex records twice over.

And Daichi ends up breaking Suga’s own record of longest period sleeping, too, which amuses him enough that he doesn’t make too many jokes about what he dubs The Second Love Spirit Incident.

“It _wasn’t_ a love spirit,” Daichi mutters, angrily, into his pillow.

“If we call it the chimera incident, Kei is going to die a little more on the inside each time. He doesn’t have much left, Daichi.”

“Come back to bed.”

“Daichi, I think your dick will fall off if you try to get hard again.”

Daichi proves him wrong.


End file.
